Astonishingly Willful
by WhatIsThis'Sleep'YouSpeakOf
Summary: Twelve-year-old Toby wants to know why his every wish comes true, Sarah wants to know why she's having these very (ahem) intense dreams, and Jareth wants to make some changes to his kingdom, starting with increasing it's number of citizens by two. But Jareth will soon be reminded to be careful what he wishes for, because these two humans are astonishingly willful.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've set this story just shy of 12 years after the movie came out and tried to insert 90's references where appropriate. If you grew up back then, hopefully you'll enjoy them. Enjoy!

[Image credit: album cover of Bowie's 1977 "Heroes"-it'll make sense in a few chapters]

* * *

 **May 1998**

Toby Williams woke with a start. He'd had that dream again; the one where he was walking through a maze, following the sound of someone speaking his name—always just ahead around a corner. He'd hurry to round the bend, to find no one there and the voice teasing from beyond the next turn. It was a man's voice, a familiar one he'd heard in his dreams his whole life, but still couldn't place it. The voice called to him in an almost mocking tone, as if it's owner knew Toby couldn't remember him.

This time, he'd gotten farther than before. He'd come upon an opening affording a view, with the lowlands below laid with a dense maze that bent in and around itself in a rambling, twisting, impossible to follow fashion. But, as discouraging as it was to see in its entirety, the maze was not what shocked him awake. Across the valley stood a castle, glowing in the amber light he associated with this place. The moment he saw it, he was overwhelmed by a sense of destiny. This castle was his destination. It was where the voice's owner would be found—he knew it with absolute certainty. The accompanying surge of adrenaline had jolted him awake.

Heaving a sigh, he flopped over and covered his head with his pillow. Maybe if he fell asleep again, he'd fall back into the dream. With ironic timing his alarm clock turned on and he groaned as offensively upbeat music suddenly filled the room.

—Macarena...Heeeeeeeeeey Macarena!

He slammed the snooze button just before the painfully annoying "Ay" and cursed the DJ who had chosen to put that song on at six in the morning.

"Toby! Time to rise and shine," his mother's voice, barely muffled by his door, sang out. He groaned again. Monday. The worst day of the week. Unless you count Sunday, which was awful due to its proximity to Monday and the accompanying dread that came with it. "Toby?"

He rolled out of bed and called back grumpily, "I'm up, Mom, I'm up."

...

The phone rang while he glowered over his bowl of Cap'n Crunch. He could guess who it was before his mom picked up the receiver and rolled his eyes when she said, "Oh hi, Sarah!" It was like clockwork: every time he had the dream, his sister would just happen to call. She tried to sound casual and chatted with everyone, but he knew she was really just checking up on him. It would have been eerie, how the timing of her calls nearly always matched up the dreams, except this was Sarah, so weird was pretty normal. Not that Sarah was weird—most people who met her thought she was normal enough. She worked a boring job at the bookstore in town and wrote pretty good short stories that sometimes got published, but more often not.

"Yes, he's right here. I'll put him on, but I have to warn you. He's grumpy as all get out." His mom handed him the phone with a 'be nice' look. It wasn't necessary, he was never really rude to Sarah. Truth was, she was his favorite person—sister, confidant and mentor all rolled into one.

"Hey, Toby!" Her voice was overly chipper, trying to hide her concern. "How's everything going?"

"Fine." He knew he should probably answer with more than a single syllable, but it was early and it was Monday and he just wanted to be back in bed. Preferably finishing that dream. With an effort to be solicitous, he added, "How are you?"

"Oh, okay," she didn't sound okay, but then she turned up the perkiness and added, "Pretty good, really. I got another story published, got the acceptance letter yesterday, which is exciting. They said they'd like to see more of my work."

"Was it the "dragon" one?" Toby asked through a mouthful of cereal, which earned him a disapproving look from his very proper mom.

"No, the "time-travel" one."

Toby nodded and, realizing she couldn't see him, swallowed quickly to say, "Oh, that's a good one. I like the dragon one better, though." That earned him a laugh.

"Of course you do, Toby. You're twelve."

"Almost thirteen," he reminded her unnecessarily; he'd been saying that for the past two months and he still had three weeks to go before his birthday. She chuckled again.

"Oh, my baby brother. All grown up." There was another long pause while he drank his orange juice and she worked up the courage to ask again, "So… you're really okay? Nothing bad happening at school or… anything new?"

"Nope!" He adopted her deliberate cheeriness, "Everything is fine!" Toby confided in Sarah about a lot of things, but he didn't talk to her about the dream anymore. Not since he'd described the maze, three years ago, and watched as horror drained the color from her face. For whatever reason, this dream of his terrified her, so he pretended he'd grown out of them. She still always called when he had them, so he guessed she must know on some level, but he shrugged it off. It was just another one of those weird, inexplicable things.

He quickly wrapped up his portion of the phone call, then handing the phone off to his dad when he walked in the room. From the hesitant way she'd said goodbye, he figured she'd show up tonight to try and talk more. Maybe even pick him up from school, if she didn't have to work.

That would be great, he thought hopefully to himself. Better than riding the bus with that asshole Jeremy. And with that pleasant thought, he dumped his plate in the sink and hurried to catch his morning bus, calling goodbye to his parents as he bolted out the door.

* * *

Karen sighed as her baby ran out the door. He was as tall as her and he was going to be a teenager in less than 3 months, as he frequently reminded everyone, but Toby would always be her baby. Maybe it was different for Christopher, she thought as she watched her husband stirring his coffee absentmindedly, with the receiver pinned between his ear and shoulder. He already had Sarah when they'd met and she had been, and still was, the apple of his eye.

Not that he showed any preference of one child over the other, thank god. It could have turned out pretty badly, had that been the case. Toby had come as a bit of a surprise for them both, though a happy one to be sure. The first year had been just miserable. A newborn and a melodramatic teenager under the same roof—oh it had been awful! Karen had begun to doubt they'd ever make it work, and then one day it was all different.

Sarah had completely changed the way she felt about her half-brother, seemingly overnight. She stopped adding the "half" to "brother." She never complained about watching him. She'd given him her beloved teddy bear and soon handed down almost all her toys to him. She'd drop everything to play with him whenever he wanted. She started spending her own money to buy him little treats and take him to the arcade or amusement park. And she was fiercely protective.

Once, while taking a walk in the park, she'd noticed a man was watching them. Turns out he was a former coworker of Karen's. His own kids playing at the edge of the pond, he'd been watching them, trying to place where he knew Karen from. Then Sarah had flown at him shouting that he tell his king to leave them alone. That had been an awkward situation, but she'd secretly been impressed at her stepdaughter's ferocity. There was no way anyone would harm Toby with Sarah around.

Sarah's protectiveness had continued as Toby grew. She doted on him so much, people joked that she was a second mother and, if the truth be told, there had been moments when she had felt Sarah was usurping her role. If she put her foot down, he ran crying to Sarah who invariably took his side. Luckily, her husband always took her side, so it would end up kids pitted against parents and the parents usually won.

Lost in these memories, Christopher startled her by handing over the phone. She congratulated Sarah on having another story published, having overheard both Toby and Christopher discussing it, and enthusiastically pressed for more details.

"They asked to see more of my pieces," Sarah was saying, her voice tinged with both excitement and trepidation. She'd heard this before from other publishers and been disappointed when none of her other work was accepted. Still, it was hard not to get her hopes up. Karen understood this better than most, having dabbled in writing fiction herself. She assured Sarah that persistence would win, as her work was excellent.

"...So, Karen… Is Toby really doing okay?" She sounded more concerned than normal and immediately Karen worried that there was something going on that she didn't know about. Toby had often confided in Sarah, so it was possible Sarah knew more than Karen did, enough to be worried.

"He seems to be fine to me. Why? Is there something going on that I don't know about?" Sarah's moment of silence confirmed her fears and she immediately thought of the boy who'd been bullying Toby for the past two years. "Is it that horrible Jeremy boy? Is he picking on Toby again?"

"No, no," Sarah rushed to reassure her, "I mean, I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me about any of that. He seems fine to me too. I'm just worried about nothing, I guess."

"Sarah," Karen put on her best step-mother voice, "you would tell me if there was something happening to Toby, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. Of course I would. I'd tell you and Dad right away if he was getting picked on or getting into trouble. It's nothing like that."

"...Well then? What is it?"

Sarah hesitated, but finally admitted with a sigh, "It's just that I had that stupid dream again."

"The one with the trolls?"

"Goblins," Sarah corrected her, "Yeah. And it's making me worried for no reason. I'm just being an idiot." She tried to laugh off her embarrassment. "Another example of my fantastic imagination running away with me!"

"Well, that fantastic imagination of yours is going to make you rich and famous someday!" Karen laughed back.

"Do you mind if I pick him up from school today? Take him to the arcade or something? I promise to have him home by five, so he can do his homework before dinner."

Karen readily assented and invited her to stay for dinner afterwards. Sarah, not being a great cook, accepted her offer gratefully. Having survived the awkward teen years, the two of them had settled into a friendly relationship and enjoyed each other's company. They chatted for a bit more, until Sarah realised she was running late for work. Hanging up the phone with a sigh, Karen began cleaning up the breakfast dishes and silently worried to herself that Sarah knew more than she was letting on.

* * *

 **A/N: I originally had all this before the chapter began, but worried so much expository author notes would discourage you, dear reader, from taking on my story. Maybe it's better to let the writing speak for itself, but I can't help myself. I want to give you a little explanation about what I'm thinking and where I plan to take this. I love it when authors on this site do that, so here goes. Feel free to skip it, if you want.**

 **I'm intrigued by Jareth's line about living up to Sarah's expectations of him. Why would he bother conforming to her expectations? And then there's the fact that many characters she meets in the Labyrinth appear as toys in her room before the adventure begins. While the easiest explanation is that the whole thing was a figment of her imagination, that's just boring.**

 **So the premise of this story is: what if the Underground is real, but it and it's denizens (fae, goblin and otherwise) are created only by humans' dreams and imagination? What if their appearance, and to an extent their behavior, is influenced by the humans with which they interact? Finally, given this limitation to his world, what would a very clever, introspective and ambitious Goblin King do to manipulate things in his favor?**

 **...**

 **After some reflection, I realize I'm totally influenced by that other awesome 80's movie The Neverending Story. Imagine how the Child-like Empress might have influenced Bastian, had she been Jareth.**


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah leaned her elbow against the counter of the bookshop and eased her aching head onto her hand with a sigh. It was a slow day at the shop and she'd already done all the shelving, filing, and cleaning that usually occupied her time between customers. The purchase orders were done, the guest authors for the next two months were confirmed, and the proofs for their upcoming advertisements were on the shop owner's desk awaiting approval .

Her performance review had consisted of a single sentence: Sarah is resourceful, creative and efficient. It was effusive praise, coming from her notoriously taciturn boss and Sarah had felt the compliment deeply. At this exact moment, however, Sarah would choose three very different words to describe herself: exhausted, apprehensive and paranoid.

With a deep sigh, she looked at her unopened notebook. At times like this, when all her duties had been done, Sarah usually got out her notebook to write a bit. But her temples throbbed and her nerves still jangled from her restless night of dreams.

Toby had been running through the Labyrinth, so fast she couldn't catch up to him. Every time she'd round a corner, she'd catch a glimpse of him disappearing behind another bend. Inevitably, she'd come to a dead end and would turn to see him disappearing back the way she'd come. Calling out to him did no good, he was always too far ahead, too absorbed in his own quest to notice her. The sense of foreboding was the worst part of these dreams. She could almost hear mocking laughter, could feel sharp eyes on her as she frantically searched for her brother and her brother frantically searched for him.

This dream had begun several years ago. At first, she just shrugged it off as one of the many dreams she had about the Labyrinth and the tyrannical king who ruled it. Until, that is, Toby told her about what he called his "maze dream." One where he was chasing a disembodied voice through the corridors of what could only be the Labyrinth. One that was the match to her dream, where she chased him. They'd had it on the same night.

A week later, her sense of anxiety turned into a outright panic when she saw Toby's sketches of goblins. Her brother was an unusually gifted for his age, but his drawings were too good. Too close to the actual creatures. Creatures she had pretended weren't real—were just a figment of her imagination.

Sarah had tried to dismiss her memories of the Labyrinth and her friends—and her adversary—as a product of her active imagination. The dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, along with the visits her friends had made from her mirror in the months that followed... she told herself she had dreamt all of it up.

She still had reminders of them, though. The bookend that was the spitting image of Hoggle. The worn little red book. The music box with it's tinny song—that one she'd buried in a box at the bottom of her closet. The tune made her uncomfortable, reminding her of that magic-induced hallucination, and it disconcerted her in a vaguely regretful sort of way. All the same, she couldn't quite bear to get rid of the music box.

And, of course, there were the dreams. Dreams of chasing a perpetually infant Toby through the impossible hall of stairs, being chased by the Fire Gang through the woods, falling through mocking hands into an oubliette or running through a dark tunnel as a slashing machine sped after her.

But there were different dreams too. Ones she hadn't lived. Dreams that featured a different sort of danger—one that was at once terrifying and alluring. Dreams full of longing and trembling, of dark whispers and brief caresses.

He was at times an seducer, beckoning for her to follow him into shadows that she'd find empty, teasing her with smouldering glances and soft whispers, but never satisfying. Then there were times when he was aggressive, appearing before her scintillating in his Fae glamor, pulling her forcefully against him with her name a throaty moan on his lips. His breath on her neck. His hands in her hair. His lips burning her skin, but she never pulled away—she always wanted more. Pleaded silently with her eyes for more. And he, cruel creature he was, never gave it.

He gazed down at her with varying degrees of lust, arrogance, and triumph, very occasionally tempered with a touch of fond amusement. Sometimes just as their lips were about to touch he would whisper, "Sarah, wake up," bursting the bubble of her dream. Other times, he would kiss and caress her, purring in response to her initially tentative touch, until she lost her hesitancy and felt drowning in desire—at which point he would suddenly feign disinterest and move out of her embrace to gaze at her from a distance with a mocking expression. Very rarely, when her dream was interrupted by her alarm or the ringing of her telephone, his face would contort in frustration as she was torn from his arms, but more often he watched her go with studied indifference.

She never spoke in these dreams. Not that she didn't have plenty to say to him. But she knew that what's said is said and, even though it was just a dream, she'd be damned if she would give this dream-Jareth anything to use against her. In the beginning, he'd attempted to provoke her into speech, prodding her with snarky comments and silky promises of reward. After a time, though, he seemed to accept that her will was as strong as his, and contented himself with her shuddering gasps and stifled moans.

She tried to explain away these dreams. She was a woman with a healthy (if largely unsatisfied) drive. Her girlhood-fantasy of a nemesis practically radiated sexuality, so it wasn't unreasonable for her mind to chose him as the object of her desire. These arguments weren't entirely convincing; she had long ago outgrown her adolescent "bad boy" phase and certainly wouldn't tolerate such mocking behavior from any lover. More telling, these dreams were never fulfilling—she'd wake unsatisfied, aching for gratification—and surely her own subconscious wouldn't torture her this way. But then again, they were just dreams and who could explain why one dreamed what they did.

The thing she really couldn't explain away was that damn bird.

Looking out the window of the shop now, she could see it. A white and tawny barn owl, watching her through the windows. Since that night almost twelve years ago, it had haunted her. Appearing at various times of the day and night, it would watch her for a few minutes or hours, then fly off as suddenly as it had arrived. Occasionally, it would disappear for a few weeks, months even, only to turn up again. Always watching her with intense yellow eyes. For months, it had been absent, but this morning as she talked on the phone with Toby it had peered in her kitchen window, then taken up roost across the street where it could easily look in the shop windows as she went about her job.

"The damn stubborn, intrusive annoyance," she muttered under her breath, glaring at the bird. She'd called it many things, though never in its hearing. Shooting the owl another dark look, she moved out of its line of sight and tried unsuccessfully to read a new book until her coworker came to relieve her. A somewhat grumpy older lady, Marcia often struck Sarah as a long lost relative of Hoggle.

"Afternoon, Sarah," she said gruffly as she bustled into the space behind the counter, not giving Sarah a chance to leave it first. Sarah replied with a wan smile as she squeezed past her and returned the new book to the display case. The woman's shrewd eyes followed her. "If that's a good book, you might as well leave it here for me to read." She patted the countertop expectantly.

"I have no idea if it's good or not," Sarah admitted with a self-deprecating laugh, "I'm too tired to actually get beyond the first page—just kept reading and re-reading the same three sentences." She handed the book over and noted with amusement how quickly Marcia had the book open. People took a job in a bookshop for one of two reasons: they were aspiring authors like herself or were voracious readers who wanted a job that allowed them to read all day. Marcia fell firmly into the latter category. Sarah suspected that anyone who did come into the shop today would be hard pressed to get anything but the most cursory assistance from Marcia.

With a glance at her watch, Sarah grabbed her purse and, wishing the older lady happy reading, headed out the door. If she hurried, she'd make it to Toby's school before it let out. As she drove down the road, she noted with a frustrated sigh that the damn owl was following.

* * *

The owl causing Sarah's exasperated sighs landed in a tree above the intersection as her vehicle waited for the light to change. He took the moment to adjust his feathers elegantly, while temporarily out of her sight. He was accustomed to Sarah's silent glares and long-suffering sighs, but preferred to avoid the inevitable scoff and eye roll that happened when she caught him preening. Her obvious irritation with his presence and the accompanying silent snubs no longer held the sting they once had, but his pride would not bear her derision.

He possibly would have bore it, if it loosened her tongue enough to acknowledge him. He would have tolerated a great deal for the opportunity to banter with her, but just as in her cruel dreams, Sarah was studiously silent. And, unfortunately, in her world he couldn't approach her in another form unless she initiated it. For years he had strained every nerve, waiting for her to speak his name, ready to appear in a flurry of glittering magic. She'd said his title a few times, while telling her young brother bedtime stories, but never in a way that could be even remotely construed as a summons.

But, the glamored bird thought with satisfaction, she will have to break her silence eventually, and soon, given how things were progressing. Though it wasn't exactly one of his defining characteristics, Jareth was patient. It was a virtue humans struggled with, but long life had gifted the Fae with it in abundance. Despite this, he was pleased that the wait was almost over. He clacked his talons grimly as he began again to follow Sarah's vehicle. Once she broke her silence, many things could change. Her inevitable insolence, because there was no doubt Sarah's first utterances would be less than respectful, would have to be dealt with. But, after a suitable chastening, he would show her that the King of the Goblins could be very forgiving. He considered it one of his defining characteristics, after all: his magnanimity.

In fact, if asked to describe himself in three words, Jareth would say he was magnanimous, formidable and ingenius. And, because a monarch should never be restrained by something as mundane as numbers, he would add magnificently handsome to the list.

He would never be challenged on adding the additional adjectives, as the vast majority of his subjects had, at best, a loose concept of numerical order. Though Jareth had never given much thought to this particular shortcoming of goblins, it could probably be attributed to their inconsistent numbers of digits. When the fellow next to you had seven fingers on each hand, and you had only three, it made the process of learning to count much more confusing.

Jareth was magnanimous because, given the population he ruled over and the frequency with which they annoyed him, it was a wonder they hadn't all been tipped headfirst into the Bog of Eternal Stench centuries ago. He tolerated his subjects imbecility with an astonishing amount of patience, he thought, and allowed them an unprecedented amount of freedom. The previous king had ruled with an iron fist. Well, not iron exactly, it being poison to the Fae...perhaps a stone fist? Regardless of how one described his predecessor's reign, it was undeniable that Jareth's reign had been gentler. Though, perhaps less so in the years immediately following what the goblins referred to as the Great Battle of the Rocks.

His defeat at the hands of Sarah Williams had left him absolutely infuriated and his subjects had suffered accordingly. Regular military drills had been instituted, denizens of the Labyrinth had been ruthlessly re-trained on their specific duties, and citizens throughout the kingdom were bogged for previously innocuous offenses. As time had gone on, however, Jareth had returned to his generally tolerant ways. Recently, he had grown almost jovial, due in no small part to a delightful discovery he'd made and the way he planned to benefit from it—to become the most powerful Goblin King of all time.

Since the beginning, all Goblin Kings had been formidable. The magic they were imbued with was fearsome. They had control over space and time within the Underground, and could access and manipulate the dreams of Undergrounders and Abovedwellers alike. They had the power to shapeshift, and transport themselves and others between worlds on a whim. Of all the Fae, the Goblin King was among the most powerful and in his region of the Underground, he certainly was unparalleled. And, like all Goblin Kings before him, Jareth took great pride in that power. He entertained himself by flaunting it every opportunity he got. Even after centuries, he hadn't grown tired of seeing lesser beings tremble before him in awe.

Jareth had become quite creative with the many ways he inspired that awe and terror among his subjects. That's where the ingenius bit came into play.

The Bog had been his idea ...at least in part. He had found it in the dream of some Abovedweller and had brought it into his world, with the notable addition of the stench. He discovered, quite by accident, that goblins held an innate, fearful superstition of crystal balls. Knowing that they were mesmerised into silence by juggling, he had combined them and found himself a new pastime that, in the early years of it's adoption, gained him half an hour of precious silence. After a century, the goblins had lost a bit of their superstitious fear and he gradually found more and more of them crowding around him to peer into the spheres alongside him. Despite this slightly irritating development, he'd kept up the hobby.

His most preferred method of intimidation was to disguise himself and slip into the mundane lives of his subjects, then reveal himself with flourish when he caught them doing something forbidden. Their shock and frantic displays of contrition always brought a smile to his face (albeit a malicious smile). Occasionally the offense was egregious enough to merit a trip to the Bog or a visit with the Fireys or some similar unpleasantness, but most often he let them go with nothing more than stern threats.

Such leniency didn't spur insubordination because intimidation was not his only means of gaining loyalty. He was quite generous, especially in comparison with his predecessors, and would even lower himself to mingle amongst them, particularly when he was feeling especially songful. It happens that goblins enjoy music and some can even carry a tune quite adequately. Whenever the little creatures were being particularly annoying—or, more accurately, whenever Jareth was bored of listening to their constant stream of noise, sick of magicking away the grimy fingerprints they left over every surface, and tired of plucking the ubiquitous chicken feathers from his hair—he would begin singing. It worked like a charm; they eagerly joined in, to varying degrees of ability, and Jareth himself always felt better. Soothe the savage beast, indeed.

This familiarity with his subjects bred a strong loyalty, a loyalty that went both ways. If he were to be completely truthful (and he tried never to be completely truthful as it rarely reflected well on him or his circumstance) his existence was a somewhat lonely one and he'd come to appreciate the company of his dimwitted minions. If one had no peers readily available, the adoration of sycophants would suffice.

But soon, he would have different company. Not peers exactly, but certainly more stimulating and entirely less predictable than the majority of his subjects. As humans, they were bound to be frustrating, with their indecisive and deceitful ways. Despite this, Jareth fully anticipated they would be invigorating company for him. Jareth especially looked forward to confounding Sarah Williams with his formidable genius and stunning good-looks once again. He would display his magnanimity by forgiving all her human impertinence, as well as the offense of her despicable dreams. That matter would be quickly resolved to their mutual satisfaction.

More important than the satisfaction of her company, however, was the fact that their presence would open a door to unsurpassed power for him. Given all he had seen, it wouldn't be long before the siblings were in his realm. And thirteen hours after that, he would have Sarah and Toby Williams at his disposal forever.

* * *

 **A/N: I suppose I should take a moment to warn you, dear reader, that this will be a slow burn romance. If you are looking for a quick romance, I feel I must (mis)quote the False Alarms:**

 **Go back while you still can! This is not the way (to immediate gratification)! Take heed and go no further! Beware! BEWARE!**


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as he stepped out of the school door, Toby saw Sarah leaning against her car and glaring menacingly at something in a nearby tree. He knew, before he looked, that the object of her wrath was a white barn owl.

"Hey," he called over the bustle of the crowd of middle schoolers, "Your bird is back."

"Yeah. He's back alright." Her voice was thick with an angry sort of apprehension and it appeared to take effort to pull her attention away from the bird. Once looking at her brother, however, her expression lightened with affection. "Where to first? The arcade or Dairy Queen?"

"Dairy Queen. I need a Reese's Pieces Blizzard." Toby said dramatically and opened to the passenger door. Sarah glared again at the owl as she opened her door and sat down behind the wheel. "I haven't seen him in a while," Toby nodded at the bird, who had begun watching him the moment he arrived and was still staring at him through the car window. "It's been, like, what? Two months? You think it's the same owl as before?"

"Oh, that's him alright," Sarah said darkly, as she pulled into the flow of station wagons and minivans. "He is nothing if not persistent."

For as long as Toby could remember, the owl had been around, hanging out in the trees outside their house, following them on walks to the park and even appearing miles away while they were on vacations. His parents had made jokes about it, dubbing the beautiful white bird 'Sarah's owl'. Sarah vehemently protested any such association, which had only encouraged them.

Eventually she'd named it "The Vermin," in an effort to dissuade them from calling it "Sarah's Owl", but giving it a name only made it more her pet. Though it was unwelcome on her part, the rest of the family loved it and all its impenetrable ways. Whenever his parents tried to interact with it, the owl studiously ignored them (or, occasionally, regarded them with what could only be disdain), but it would watch Toby with nearly as much interest as Sarah. Once, as a child, he'd tried to feed it, but Sarah had caught him and put a stop to it immediately and permanently. It was one of the only times in his life that she had yelled at him. In any case, the bird hadn't been interested in the food, but has watched Toby's attempted offering and Sarah's flurry of hysterics with curiosity. The bird's obvious interest in Sarah contradicted the bizarre and passionate animosity she held for the creature. Toby had never really questioned why she was so irritated by the owl, to him it was just one of her quirks.

"So," Sarah with forced casualness, "How was school?"

Toby outright grinned and replied with emphasis on each word. "It was awesome!"

Sarah glanced over in surprise at his obvious delight, but didn't need to do any pressing before he continued, eager to talk. "You know that asshole Jeremy—" he interrupted himself to add, "Don't worry, I know better than to use that word in front of Mom." Sarah chuckled, remembering the many lectures she'd received on appropriate language. "Anyway, he was about to sit down in the cafeteria and his chair just flew out from under him. He landed so hard on the ground, right on his ass—his tray went flying—there was food everywhere! Sloppy joe all over him. And man, he was so pissed! Ended up getting into a fight with one of his friends because he thought he'd pulled the chair out. They both got suspended for two days." He sighed happily at the thought of not seeing the bully for several days. Sarah looked like she wanted to chastise him for getting so much pleasure out of another's suffering, but she didn't. He had told her enough about Jeremy to know it was well deserved.

"The crazy thing is, right before it happened, I thought to myself 'I wish he'd fall on his ass.' And then it did. It was so awesome." He lapsed into a satisfied silence.

"And, other than that spectacle…" Sarah asked leadingly after a moment.

"It was okay, I guess. I have this awful project in Social Studies, but I got assigned to work with the smartest kid in school, so it should be easy. And I got into that journalism elective I wanted for fifth period. It was full, but someone got mono, so I'm in. Which reminds me, I've got something to show you when we sit down." He sighed contentedly and rested his head on his arms, Ferris Bueller style. "So far, it's been a good start to the week. It feels like I have the best luck in the world. We should go buy a lottery ticket!" Sarah laughed and when Toby insisted he was serious, she laughed even harder until he joined in.

* * *

Handing Toby one of the frosty paper cups, Sarah sank into the booth across from him and quickly wracked her brain for a conversational topic that wasn't going to sound suspicious. Any strange men with wild hair and weird clothes following you lately? What about goblins?

She was saved from starting the conversation by Toby as he pushed his notebook toward her.

"My latest drawing," he said with pride, "It's for the music festival next week." It was a beautiful drawing, featuring the historic bell tower of the town hall with what was clearly loose pages of music caught in a breeze, swirling around it. "Mr. Fletcher says he'll put it in the school paper, if I can get the coloring finished by Wednesday."

Sarah grinned. "Sounds like I won't be the only Williams who gets published!" Toby's smile grew bigger when she asked about the comic book he'd been working on for the past month.

"Wanna see it?"

"Of course!"

He opened his backpack on the table and pulled a sketchbook out, bringing with it several papers that had been crammed into the bag hastily. Catching a glimpse of them, her smile fell. Crumpled and torn from being abandoned at the bottom of his bag, each one was covered in intricate sketches of goblins. Goblin faces and profiles, full body goblins. There were even a few goblins chasing chickens along the bottom of one page. She had thought he'd stopped drawing them, but apparently not. She knew from experience that there wasn't any point in bringing it up.

He handed her his sketchbook, open to his masterpiece and proceeded to shovel as much soft serve in his mouth as humanly possible. His comic was good, the drawings intricate and the characters complex. The plot was a little weak, but then Toby's strength had always been character development. He invented worlds populated with fantastic looking creatures—elves, dwarves, trolls, faery people of all sorts—with equally fantastic personalities. Sarah had often wished she could come up with such compelling characters as easily as he did.

She turned the page and froze. The next page was covered with an exact likeness of Jareth's castle. It was unmistakable, even though she hadn't seen it in over a decade, there was no mistaking it or the labyrinth that snaked around the lowlands before it.

"Oh, that was as far as I got," Toby said with a full mouth. Sarah looked at him, horrified by what he could possibly mean. Had he gotten as far as the castle in his dream? Seeing her expression, he frowned and said, "What?"

"...as far as you got?" She said weakly.

"My comic." He replied blankly, turning the page back, "I got as far as this. I was kinda hoping you could give me an idea for where they should go from here. I was thinking Ellestra should join them on the quest, but then I thought maybe she should follow a few days behind them instead…" Toby continued, but Sarah couldn't hear him—adrenaline had her blood rushing through her ears too loudly.

"Toby?" She interrupted him to turn back to the drawing of the Goblin King's castle, "Where did you get the idea for this?" Toby frowned and slowly took the notebook, stuffing it back into his bag.

"Nowhere. I mean, I don't know. I just... It just came to me. It's nothing really." His discomfort was palpable. They finished their ice cream in an uncomfortable silence. Sarah, not for the first time, agonized over whether now was the right time for her to tell Toby everything. Toby clearly wanted to avoid the topic and Sarah suspected he'd read her well enough to know this drawing terrified her as much as his dreams had.

In the end, Sarah didn't bring it up. Part of her chastised herself for being a coward. She knew that, once Toby learned about their time in the Underground, their relationship would never be the same. He would either think she was a lunatic or, even worse, he would despise her for wishing him away when he was a defenseless toddler. It was a conversation that, after almost twelve years, she still wasn't ready to have. And it was one she was beginning to feel might have to happen whether she was ready or not.

* * *

Hours later, after helping Karen with the dinner dishes and reiterating yet again to her dad why it was important she had her own place and not simply move back in to "save money", Sarah said good night to Toby by tousling his hair in the way he pretended to hate and headed out the door. Despite the moonless darkness of the night, Sarah could easily see the owl when she stepped off the front porch. Perched in a tree in front of Toby's bedroom window, he seemed to glow as his head turned to watch her. Frustration bubbled up inside of her. While she pretended that the persistent owl was nothing more than a bird, and while she went along with Toby's insistence that he didn't have any dreams about the Goblin Kingdom, the feeling that something was going to happen had been growing stronger. Now, that sense of nervous apprehension had grown so strong that any silent moment while she was alone, her nerves jangled with pent-up energy and her skin seemed to crawl with electric fear. Glaring up at the owl, something in her snapped and she spoke to him for the first time in over a decade, in a tone laced with malice.

"You stay away the hell away from him."

Turning away dismissively, she started off towards her car with head held high. After a few steps, though, she felt incredibly foolish. Now I'm talking to owls, her snarky inner voice said, And here I thought I'd outgrown pretend.

The sense of foolishness drained away as the porch and street lights suddenly winked out, dropping the front yard into darkness. She felt, more than heard, a rustle of wings dissolve into the sound of a boot tread on the pavement following her. Panic shot through her veins and she froze, suddenly aware that the impossible was manifesting itself behind her.

Run, exclaimed a panicked voice inside her head, You idiot, just run! She was in the middle of doing a quick calculation of how long it would take her to reach her car, when her snarky inner voice pointed out, He's a magical creature from another dimension that can control time and change his corporeal form. You seriously plan to outrun him? It was while she stood frozen, with these two thoughts competing for supremacy, that he spoke.

"Hello, Sarah," his voice purred, as dangerous and seductive as she remembered.

Clearly, running wasn't a good option. Heart pounding, she turned to face him and found he looked the same as he had in her dreams—imposing, angular, and captivating—with slight alterations that, if anything, rendered him more attractive. The shocking hair was voluminously swept back, framing his face in a style reminiscent of a lion's mane. The dramatic ensemble was slightly less provocative, with leather breeches replacing the tights, but no less theatrical. The gaunt face with piercing eyes, however, had not aged.

Another thing about him hadn't changed: like so many times in the past, he was smirking at her, triumphant that she'd broken her years of silent contempt. Not wanting to give him any further such pleasure, she set her jaw and glared at him. He slowly ran his gaze down her body, lingering on her curves, then back up to give her a predatory stare.

"Well, well, well. You've grown into quite a woman."

A thrill ran through her at his obvious approval, but was quickly buried in anger. She couldn't help but snap angrily, "As if you haven't been watching me all this time."

"Ah, yes," Jareth acknowledged with a smile as he suddenly found the fingers of his gloves to be of great interest, "I like to keep tabs on my…" He looked up at her again with another inscrutable smirk, letting the unspoken word hang in the air until Sarah couldn't help but finish his sentence for him.

"Enemy." She certainly felt that way, staring him down in the darkness in front of her family's house.

He tossed his head back and laughed, "Enemy? My enemy? Come, come, now, Sarah," Suddenly, he disappeared and was standing behind her, his chest brushing her shoulder as he spoke quietly, "I've seen your dreams."

Though his words made her freeze again in horror, his breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine and a traitorous warmth blossomed through her body. She had no control over what she dreamed, but she still blushed. Her anger surged again at her own reaction and she stepped away, turning to face him again, but now he was looking with great interest towards her brother's window. It glowed faintly and she could imagine him reading some comic book in bed, unaware of the danger lurking on the walkway below.

"You aren't the only one who has grown." His words froze her blood and the next moment her fear flashed into bright fury.

"I told you to stay away from him."

"I heard you," he replied airily, looking at her with indulging amusement.

"I won. I solved your labyrinth and got him back. He's not yours to take. You don't have any right—"

A stern look came over him as he listened to her words, and at the last ones he shot her a sharp look as he interrupted her.

"—Don't I? You know nothing about my rights, nothing about the laws that govern my realm. You presume to speak about things that you can't even begin to comprehend." He closed the space between them with a step and scowled at her menacingly, "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Like a mouse, frozen in terror by the wild cat about to prey on her, Sarah couldn't look away from his eyes. Every heartbeat sent more adrenaline through her veins until her scalp was tingling with it. When she felt sure she would begin to tremble, his dropped his gaze to her lips. Just as quickly as his fury had risen, his expression melted into a seductive gaze. "You have no idea." He leaned in closer and suddenly every inner voice she had burst out of their dumbfound state into a cacophony of instruction.

'Run!'

'Hit him!'

'Have you seen how sexy he is? Lean in!'

'No! Run! Just Run!'

'No! Punch him in his pretty face!'

'Close your eyes—he's going to kiss you!'

'Are you insane?! This is the Goblin King we're talking about! We need to get out of here!'

'Knee him in the groin—it's so prominent, you can't miss it!'

'The eff-ing Goblin King is going to kiss you! And maybe more! For god's sake: Lean In!'

Sarah's inner shouting match left her paralyzed as Jareth reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, then traced the curve of her ear, leaving a tingling sensation where his overly warm fingertips touched. His eyes followed the path his fingers trailed down along her neck, then smirked as she gave an involuntary shiver. His hand slid up into her hair and the other snaked around the side of her waist. "Sarah," he whispered into her ear, smirking again at the goosebumps his breath rose on her neck. Without warning, he pulled her in, pressing her body against the length of his. He pulled his head back to lock his eyes with hers and the inner voices quieted considerably at this, only murmuring, Oh no! and Oh yes!

"Sarah," his whisper was almost a groan, "close your eyes."

She ignored her chorus of advice, and placing her hands on his chest, she slowly pushed away from him. She wasn't going to run or fight him, but she wasn't going to fall into his arms like this was some smutty romance novel. Instead, she stared him down, her jaw set firmly and her eyes glinting with defiance.

"Ah, Sarah," he said with a smile, loosening his hold on her, "You are the most defiant, contrary, bewitching mortal I've ever known." He took a step back and with another brief glance at Toby's window, looked her up and down again then said wryly, "This reunion could have ended much differently. What a pity."

He took a few slow steps backward, fading into the shadows of the darkened yard. "Until next time, Sarah." And with that, she heard a rustle of fabric turning to the whisper of wings and knew he was gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Finally! Face to face Jareth and Sarah! While Jareth would appreciate being the hero of a smutty romance novel, Sarah is far too suspicious of him for that to happen. Yet. *wink wink***

 **As the Wise Man's Hat says: Please, leave a contribution in the little box. (A review, that is!)**


	4. Chapter 4

Toby carried Mrs. Smith's attendance sheet to the office with a jaunty spring in his step. It was another one of those days, just like every other day this week had been—a day when everything was going his way. As his language arts teacher finished taking roll, he threw out a silent wish that she'd pick him to take it to the office. This desirable errand meant five minutes of wandering the nearly empty halls—if the most circuitous route was taken, this reprieve from learning to be stretched to eight minutes—and was usually given to one of three girls who sat in the front row. All three of them looked stunned when Mrs. Smith passed them and handed the roll sheet to Toby.

Toby grinned as he reflected on the day's occurrences. During passing time, he'd watched with glee as the cruel new substitute teacher was drenched by a malfunctioning water fountain. On the way into the cafeteria, he'd wished for his favorite item to be on the menu, but no luck there. He figured it was too late at that point to change the lunch lady's meal plans, so didn't count that as a failed wish. And then there was the matter of the perfectly timed fire alarms...

Lost in thought about his good luck, he rounded a corner and almost collided with his dream girl. Becca was one of the cutest girls in school and he'd had a crush on her for years, but after last night's dream, she was his dream girl in more than just name.

It had been a strange dream—similar to the maze running dream in that it felt foreign, as if it wasn't created by his own subconscious. The dream's setting had been a school dance (definitely not a setting his mind would come up with, unless it was a nightmare) and Becca had been the center of everything, with him observing from a distance. They'd never actually talked before—he didn't even think she knew his name, so he surprised himself by having the nerve to ask her to dance. And even more surprised that, in the middle of their dance, when she had looked up at him with her soft brown eyes—that flitted to his lips and back—he'd had the nerve to lean down and kiss her. Standing so close to her again, in real life this time, the memory burned his cheeks.

"Oh! Sorry!" They both exclaimed at the same time and then laughed. She had suddenly begun blushing too, which gave Toby the courage to actually start a conversation.

"Taking attendance to the office?" He waved his paper conspiratorially.

"Yeah, I'm just heading back." There was a moment of awkward silence, neither of them moving to leave, but also not making direct eye contact. Toby came up with a new topic first.

"Crazy day, huh? With all the fire alarms?"

"Yeah," Becca looked relieved at having something to talk about, "Three times in one period! It was so crazy! Just now in the office, I overheard Mr. Casto talking about looking at the cameras to figure out who pulled it."

"Whoever it was, I owe them." Toby grinned, "Got me out of a math test I wasn't ready for. I was actually wishing something like that would happen." She smiled, but suddenly seemed shy again. He hadn't thought it possible, but she was even cuter when she blushed. He decided he had nothing to lose and quietly introduced himself. "I'm Toby, by the way."

"I know." She blushed even brighter. "I'm Becca."

"I know." He smiled down at her, amused at her bashfulness. This was a girl who was on the student council and the cheer team. She regularly spoke at school assemblies and did announcements on the intercom in the morning. He'd watched her for a long time and had never seen her look shy before. This change in her made him feel strange, as if he wasn't an awkward, gangly art-nerd who drew comics and was on speaking terms with only a handful of girls. He felt confident and daring—the way he imagined popular guys felt all the time. She looked up at him through her lashes and he wondered if he leaned down to kiss her, if she'd respond like she had in his dream.

The moment was broken by another student passing them. Becca looked away and mumbled that she'd better get to her class, but didn't move. Toby, who's cheeks were beginning to ache from smiling, said softly, "Yeah. I'd better get going too. See you around."

He began to move away, when Becca said quickly, as if the words were tumbling out of her unbidden, "I had a dream about you last night."

"Oh." Later, Toby kicked himself for not saying something more charming. I hope it was a good one. That would have been better. But a dumbfounded oh was all he could manage. And then she had blushed even more fiercely and practically fled down the hall. Watching her retreating figure, remembering her sudden shyness and blushing, Toby began to suspect her dream had been the same as his. Maybe it hadn't been his dream at all, but hers. Hers, that he'd been able to enter. And manipulate. He knew that should frighten him, but it stirred a very different emotion in him.

With all the strange things that had been happening to him—wishes coming true and unbelievable good luck—Toby was beginning to feel something very different from fear. What he felt was power.

* * *

Jareth sat in his raucous throne room and tapped his chin with a gloved finger. He was trying to determine how much longer it would be before he could set his plan in motion. Everything in his kingdom was prepared, and had been for months now. They could arrive at this moment and he'd be ready... but, as with everything involving humans, timing was everything.

Watching one of his subjects be launched through the air—another misguided attempt at aeronautics by a wingless goblin with aspirations of flight—Jareth wondered to himself how long it would take Toby and Sarah to adjust to life in the Underground. He was relatively confident that Toby would adjust quickly; the boy had barely begun adolescence and was clearly of an imaginative sort. Sarah, on the other hand, would struggle with the adjustment.

Human adults did not do well in the Underground, especially once their imagination had been dried up from lack of use. In this respect, he was confident Sarah would adjust eventually—she had a fruitful imagination. As an adolescent, her imagination had brought her to the Underground and proceeded to bend his kingdom to her will. This time, however, she wouldn't be arriving as a challenger and he would be certain to limit which 'special powers' she had at her disposal. In any case, he felt confident that Sarah would acclimate to his world—and in time, would grow to appreciate it ...perhaps even love it.

He was prepared for moments of conflict, especially at the beginning of their residence in his land. Their worldview was so foreign, their sense of morality so different. Jareth had thought he understood humans—their motivations, their weaknesses, their ways of thinking—after centuries of peering into their dreams and dealing with their abandoned offspring. His previous experience with Sarah had proven him wrong in part—he certainly didn't understand everything about humans—he'd misread her motivations, overestimated her weaknesses, and failed miserably at predicting her thinking.

The Fae were not known for being forthcoming exactly, but in Jareth's experience it was humans that embraced deception and evasion. They acted duplicitously, then scrambled to avoid the repercussions of their actions. They desired one thing, but professed quite another. Sometimes, they held two antithetical desires, acknowledging only one of them, even to themselves. In his early decades of dealing with humans, it had been their quality he'd found most frustrating, but had since found most intriguing—that humans lie to themselves. And they believe the lies they tell themselves.

Sarah certainly lied to herself, her dreams were proof enough of that. In her passionate dreams he was a fire that threatened to consume her …and she wanted to be consumed. But still, she wouldn't let him. Jareth gave a frustrated noise at that thought and stood abruptly up to begin pacing the floor, scattering goblins as he went.

Sarah had some absurd notion that he, the Goblin King, only wanted to manipulate and torture her with unfulfilled desire. He did have a measure of control in her dreams—the seductive whispers and beckons, the impetuous embraces and fiery kisses, these were all his—but at some point the magic of the human imagination would kick in and he was powerless against it. It was a magical boundary he would slam into, with all the permanence and finality of a stone wall. Suddenly he could only speak words she expected to hear, could only act as she expected him to act. And she always expected him to deny her.

He was ever the villain, never the hero. Jareth paused at that thought. While he was nobility, he had to admit that he wasn't exactly noble. If left to his own devices, without any expectations of hers to live up to, he'd never be self-sacrificing by any stretch of any imagination—human or fae. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shrugged to himself. But then he was a monarch, after all, with a kingdom to manage and nearly unlimited power. No one would expect a being such as he not to be selfish. Magnanimous, yes. Selfless, certainly not. But, though it wouldn't be an entirely altruistic endeavor, he would certainly satisfy Sarah as any decent lover would, if her expectations would let him. It was infuriating, and offensive, to be so restricted when one was used to unbridled power.

He was torn from his train of thought by a burst of noise from the far edge of his throne room. A group of goblins had initiated a new competition of sorts and the victors were crowing in delight. He moved closer to the noise and wrinkled his brow in irritation as he saw the competition was, yet again, poultry-based. With a roll of his eyes, he returned to his throne. The humans would be challenging, that was true. But, after a millennia of ruling his predictable subjects, Jareth was ready for a challenge.

* * *

Sarah was exhausted. After her confrontation with Jareth a week and a half ago, and the accompanying rollercoaster of emotions—fear, anger, desire—she hadn't been able to sleep more than a few hours each night. The dream—chasing Toby through the Labyrinth—came every night now. She would wake herself screaming for Toby, screaming at Jareth, screaming in frustration that she was still going to lose her brother despite having won all those years ago.

Despite her fatigue, she made sure Toby wasn't alone, juggling her work schedule to be at her family's house when her dad or stepmother weren't around. Toby had noticed it with a little irritation.

"I don't need a babysitter, you know," he grumbled as he dropped his backpack onto the kitchen table. Sarah was busying herself with the microwave and a bag of popcorn—the only snack health-conscious Karen regularly kept in the house. "I can be alone in the house for a few hours."

"Popcorn?" Sarah asked sweetly, offering him a bowl and pointedly ignoring his line of attack. She knew arguing about it would get nowhere, because he was right—he was certainly responsible enough to be home alone and was definitely smart enough to see through any excuse she could make to justify her presence. He seemed to agree that it wasn't worth arguing over and took the bowl with a sigh of resignation.

"So...how was work?" He asked, purposefully mimicking the way she asked 'how was school?', with smirk. Sarah smirked in recognition—she had to admit it was how she'd been starting conversations lately.

"Okay, I guess. I kept dropping things all day, though. Dropped a box on the boss' foot. He didn't take that too well, but I wasn't fired, so I guess that he forgave me."

"You normally aren't clumsy," Toby replied curiously, "Why do you keep dropping things?"

Sarah sank into a kitchen chair across from him with a heavy sigh, "I haven't been sleeping well. It's catching up with me. Dropping books, forgetting where I put things… I even left someone on hold for ten minutes yesterday, completely forgot I was supposed to be looking up if we had something in stock for them."

"Man, that sucks. It sounds like you really aren't having a good week."

"Nope. How about you? Is your week still going amazingly well?" Sarah tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth and looked at him expectantly. He'd been riding high on a wave of good luck and his grin showed it hadn't ended.

"This week has been sweet. I'm telling you, Sarah, everything is going perfectly! It's like my every wish comes true. If I want something, I just have to wish for it and it happens. I had this test I wasn't ready for and I wished that we'd have a fire drill or something that would take up the whole period—someone pulled the fire alarm three times! Just when we'd get back in and seated, the alarm would go off again. After the third time, Mr. Chun gave up and said we'll have to take it tomorrow. He just let us stay outside and hang out for the rest of the period."

"I remember Mr. Chun," Sarah said reminisciently, "I can't believe he's still teaching. I'll bet he was really irritated. He took his tests so seriously. He was more worried about cheating than most of my high school teachers were."

"You should have seen when the alarm went off the second time; his face turned purple, he was so mad. This vein on his forehead was throbbing and everything. It was crazy. By the time the third one went off, he just looked defeated and I felt sorry for him. But, at least I have another night to study."

"If I had your streak of good luck, Toby, I'd go out and buy a lottery ticket," Sarah said with a smile. Toby's face lit up at that and he practically jumped out of his seat.

"We should! We totally should! I know we would win. What's the PowerBall at now? Oh my god that would be so totally sweet!" He looked offended when Sarah started laughing. "Seriously, Sarah. I know we would win." He dropped his voice and looked around, completely unnecessarily, before saying, "I'm not kidding about my wishes coming true. It's like some kind of superpower. I just have to think 'I wish this would happen' and it does."

He paused to let that sink in, but clearly wasn't satisfied by her reaction (or lack thereof). She tried to not look patronizing, but it was hard not to let her amusement show. He was usually very down-to-earth, but occasionally his imagination ran away with him and he would become very dramatic. Their dad said she'd been the same way when she was a teenager.

"You don't believe me," Toby looked around briefly and when his gaze fell on the radio, he said, "I'll prove it." He turned it on and said loudly over the sudden outburst of noise, "I wish that Jamiroquai song would play next. That 'Virtual Insanity' song."

"Toby, can you turn it down? Why does Karen have it set so loud anyway?" Toby turned it to a reasonable volume and sat back down at the table.

"She listens to it while she cleans the house. Drives Dad crazy. He's always complaining that he's going to lose his hearing. And he can never find the remote for it to turn it down from a safe distance." The song ended and a commercial came on, which elicited a groan from Toby, "Come on, come on, play some music."

Sarah tried to change the subject and suggest he start studying for that math test, when the opening strains of his wished-for song began.

"See!" Toby was out of his seat again, "I told you! Anything I wish for!" Sarah looked at the radio in mild surprise, before shrugging. It was a popular song, so while it was a lucky coincidence, it wasn't exactly an outrageous one. When she said as much to him, Toby frowned and said, "I wish the next song would be that 'pretty fly for a white guy' song."

"I hope not, because I hate that song," said Karen breezily as she entered the room and deposited two grocery bags on the counter with a thump. She switched the radio off and, with a look that brooked no protest, ordered the two of them to bring in the rest of the groceries.

"You're back early," Sarah said as she moved to the door, pulling a disgruntled Toby along with her.

"It was slow at the office, so I decided to leave early and do a grocery run. You'll stay for dinner, right?"

"I wish you would." Toby mumbled grumpily. Sarah laughed and wrapped an arm around him, then called back over her shoulder.

"Of course I will. King Toby wishes it."

Dinner was an awkward affair that evening. The parents seemed to have had some argument earlier in the day, as they were both being excessively polite and slightly cool towards one another. Toby kept trying to prove to Sarah that his wishes could come true, but as he was limited to what was available, he ended up wishing for things like someone to give him their dessert (which Karen did, but probably would have done anyway). And for her part, Sarah was having a hard time staying awake.

Their dad commented on her apparent exhaustion and Karen worried that it wouldn't be safe to drive, but Sarah waved it off their concerns. She wanted to go home, mostly because she needed to get some answers from Jareth and hoped to meet him again in the front yard. She'd tried to repeat the circumstances several times this week, leaving her family's house after dark and looking for him in the trees outside, but the owl was avoiding her.

It seemed to be following Toby now, but always left when she arrived. His making himself scarce did nothing to calm her nerves and her sense of dread didn't dissipate, especially considering he'd turned his attentions to her brother. After a week, she was growing desperate. She needed answers. As she left the house, the trees were once again empty of any raptors and she drove home with her knuckles white from clenching the steering wheel with stress.

Before she left, she had stolen a look in Toby's sketchbook. He'd drawn the castle three more times—each drawing closer and in more detail. He was getting further through the Labyrinth. And now in the margins of his notebook, along with the goblins there was a shadowy figure that could only be the Goblin King. Hastily scribbled, as if to remember before the dream faded, his eerie eyes were visible but the rest of his features were cloaked in darkness.

Sarah shivered, though not from cold. If Jareth was appearing to Toby in his dreams, maybe she could get answers from the Jareth that visited her dreams. The idea made her uncomfortable, as she liked to imagine that the dreams were just dreams. Jareth didn't really come to her, didn't really breathe against her skin, didn't really know how much she wanted him. But, if it was real, then she could get answers.

She let herself into her apartment and got ready for bed in a hurry. The strange combination of frayed nerves and exhaustion made it harder to accomplish even the most mundane of tasks; she found herself getting tangled in her nightshirt (which was by no means complicated, being just an oversized tshirt) and then she dropped her toothbrush into the toilet and had to dig around in a drawer for another one. Finally, she sunk into bed and laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. She worried that she wouldn't be able to sleep at all, she was so anxious. She worried that if she did sleep, she'd have another horrible dream where she was chasing Toby and couldn't see Jareth. But then she decided the worrying wouldn't get her anywhere.

Well, she thought, here goes nothing, and closed her eyes, hoping—for the first time—that it would be a dream where he came to her.

Immediately, she knew it was one of those dreams.. It was a familiar location, as she'd dreamt of this place for years. An echoing chamber with gauzy drapes suspended from every rafter in the space, billowing to form a kind of fabric mist that prevented her from seeing more than a few steps. She walked through the room, her feet padding softly against the cold stone floor, and pushed aside curtain after curtain, searching for him. She'd see the tail of his coat disappear behind one, but would brush it aside to find him gone; his silhouette would be outlined against another, back the way she had come, but again, once there, she'd find the space empty. When she stopped looking, he was suddenly there, behind her, breathing against her neck in the way that sent chills down her spine and stirred a need within her.

"Sarah," he breathed. While usually at this point in the dream she surrendered to his arms and lips silently, for the first time she chose to speak. She didn't know whether or not this dream was really just a dream, but if this was a chance to get answers, she had to ask for them.

"What do you want with my brother?" Her voice was soft, hushed by desire that she couldn't push away completely. He grinned delightedly.

"After so many years of silence. And now you speak to me twice in a week," he eyes glinted mischievously, "But tell me, Sarah," he dropped his head to speak against her cheek, "Do you really want to spend this time talking?" He circled around her, tracing a hand along her back and down her arm. He took her hand and raised it to his chest where she could feel the heat of his body radiating through the fabric of his shirt. As always, his touch never failed to get her heart pounding.

"I need to know." Her words were almost a whisper, as she struggled to keep from drowning in desire.

He leaned into her, brushing his ear against her cheek, to whisper in her ear, "I need something too." She closed her eyes, melting a bit, but rallied her determination.

"Why do you want Toby?" He pulled back to look at her, amused that she was resisting him.

"Want him? Oh Sarah, I don't want him," he leaned forward again, "But I do want you."

Undeterred, Sarah continued, her frustration giving her voice strength, "Why now? You never showed interest in him before. Suddenly now, you begin watching and following him. Visiting his dreams. Why?"

Jareth sighed and stepped back, seeing that she would persist until he gave some semblance of an answer. Shaking his head, he said, "You could be enjoying this dream much more, you know." When she didn't respond, he chuckled, "Ah, Sarah. You are a most determined woman."

Suddenly the sheer drapery vanished and they were in the throne room of his castle. She stood in the lowered basin at the center while he sat back lazily in his throne and gazed down at her with affectionate tolerance, as one might an impertinent child. His expression irritated her, but she held back a snarky comment. Playing along would probably get her more information and her need for answers was stronger than her defiant pride. She did, however, fold her arms across her chest and give him a look that clearly said, 'I'm waiting.'

"You want to know why, on the cusp of your brother's transition to adulthood, I have suddenly grown so interested in him?" He arched an eyebrow elegantly, "I assure you, my intentions are not nefarious. I wish him no ill. He is unique, a singular individual—not unlike myself," he paused to examine his gloves in a preening fashion, "His return to your world from mine was unprecedented. At first I wasn't sure it would have had any effect upon him, he was so young after all, and he wasn't even present for the full 13 hours," he returned his gaze at her, "you having baited me into shortening the duration of your trial." She had to stifle the urge to contradict him, reminding herself that he was no doubt trying to goad her into an argument. He grasped a crop leaning against the arm of his throne and absentmindedly tapped it to the palm of his other hand before continuing, looking slightly disappointed that she didn't rise to his bait.

"But, as I watched him the last few months, the signs were all there. He has begun to tap into power that shouldn't exist in this realm, one he brought back from his time in the Underground. The closer he gets to his 13th birthday, the more powerful he will become. More powerful and more dangerous." He dropped the crop and fixed an intense gaze on her, "Your brother does not belong in your world."

Sarah's heart froze. She tried to object, but couldn't speak. She tried to turn away, to move at all, but was immobilized in the wretched way of dreams. He's lying, she thought frantically.

"Oh, am I? My kind does not lie, Sarah." He replied dryly, as if she'd spoken her thought aloud.

An image from earlier in the day swam to the surface of her mind; it was Toby, telling her about his continued streak of good luck with a self-satisfied expression—his prideful statement of how he seemed to wield a kind of power, where anything he wished for would happen. Suddenly, Sarah realised she'd been paying attention to the wrong thing. She'd been so worried about Jareth following him and visiting his dreams, she had ignored the reason the Goblin King was interested in him. What she had dismissed as wishful thinking on Toby's part, she now saw was the main concern. Regardless of whether or not this was a just a dream, she knew whatever was happening to Toby, Jareth's interest in him was only part of the danger. Her heart dropped as if the world was falling around her and she woke with a gasp.

* * *

 **A/N: There's a lot of waking up gasping in my story, but that pretty much is my experience with waking up. There's lots of starting up out of bed and gasping in our house. "Is that the garbage truck—did we put the can out last night?!" "Was that the baby?" "Is someone knocking on our door? No? It's just the alarm clock? Why does it sound like knocking?" Drives my husband crazy.**

 **There is also, reading through it again, quite an inordinate amount of "freezing" and especially in their first interaction. Poor Sarah. She really deserves better. Luckily for all of us, she'll be getting a chance to turn the tables.**

 **To Redwood Manning: How utterly tragic of your school to show you the Never Ending Story but stop it at Artax's death! I'll bet every horse-loving-kid in the school hated that movie and needed to seek counseling as a result. Man, I tell you, grown ups can be so dumb sometimes.**


	5. Chapter 5

Sarah's dream ended, leaving Jareth to sit upon his throne and ponder, rather uncomfortably, whether or not he should have told her so much. He certainly hadn't planned on it. He tapped the riding crop against his throne thoughtfully. No doubt she had expected answers—yes, that was it. That was why he'd been compelled to explain as much as he had to her. Of course, he thought uneasily, there was the fact that she had been standing expectantly before him, her usually defiant expression tempered by anxiety, her lovely eyes entreating, every fiber of her being willing him to answer her question. Could he, in truth, deny her anything, if it was in his power to bestow it? He slapped the crop hard against his armrest with irritation as he realised the answer to that, and stood up quickly to pace to the window.

Goblins, who Sarah's imagination always magicked out of their presence while she dreamed, began to filter back into the room, some with obvious indignation at having been so abruptly sent out. One or two grumbled under their breath about the rudeness of humans. They didn't hold back in their hearty insults to Sarah's good name, as it was assumed their king felt the same way. Most fae were generally not fond of humans and he inevitably was grumpy after a visit with the dreaming Sarah, leaving the goblins to suspect he was not fond of her either. Jareth did nothing to relieve them of this misunderstanding, as he wasn't entirely certain how he felt about her either.

He certainly felt lust—it was common enough for fae to lust after humans—and he frequently felt utterly infuriated with her—also a common emotion stirred by humans. But there were other times, moments when different feelings stirred in his heart. When she cried, usually over some trivial disappointment in the form of a rejection letter from a publisher, he would feel something like sympathy and would wish he could be a warm pair of arms around her rather than a feathered creature perched out her window. On the very, very, rare times when she had failed to completely close the window blind in her bedroom, he would watch her sleeping form and feel a protectiveness creep over his heart. And when she laughed heartily at something a companion said, her eyes sparkling and the sound of her joy floating up to the tree where he sat, he would feel a twinge of jealousy that he wasn't the one making her laugh. It would grow to more than a twinge when the humorous companion happened to be a lover. The few times she'd had a lover that jealousy had turned into a raging inferno of bitterness. Life was difficult for his subjects for the duration of Sarah's romance; boggings were increased and arbitrary rules were enforced (usually relating to something that reminded Jareth of Sarah's beau—a ban on red hair during one unfortunate period, for example). Thankfully for his unwitting subjects, none of Sarah's relationships lasted long.

Sympathy, protectiveness, jealousy… these were not common emotions to the fae, especially not in regards to humans. It made Jareth uncomfortable and after a bout of any of them, he would determine not to visit Sarah. But then she would come to him, dreaming of him with desire—or both of the siblings would be running pell-mell through his Labyrinth, Sarah desperately chasing an oblivious Toby—and Jareth's determination would crumble. Once the dream was over, he found himself drawn to her world in order to catch a glimpse of her (while trying to stay hidden, so as to avoid inciting her glares and muttered insults). Despite all these things, and despite having over a decade to think about it, Jareth had not come to a conclusion as to how he felt about Sarah; he wanted to love her and hate her in equal measure.

With an irritated sigh, he decided to go to her now. She would, no doubt, have fallen back asleep and he would see nothing but darkened windows at her apartment, but he was a creature of action. The flight would calm him and if he was going to ruminate on the nature of his feelings for Sarah, he might as well do it in her world. Besides which, he thought as a particularly stupid goblin stumbled into his leg, sloshing foul smelling ale down the side of his fine boot, he needed some space from his subjects. After a visit from Sarah, all, but the very stupidest of goblins, gave him a wide berth. Unfortunately, a good many of his subjects were quite stupid. So, with a withering look at the offending goblin, who squeaked and fled, he transformed and made the familiar journey to Sarah's home.

While in flight, he had concluded that the information he'd given Sarah about her brother would not interfere with his plans. If anything, it might work in his favor. If she was worried before, she'd certainly be even more so now. If he was lucky, she might try to convince her brother not to use his powers, which would undoubtedly drive a wedge between them—a necessary thing for his plans to come out right.

As he came to her street, he noted with satisfaction that Sarah's apartment was lit up and all the curtains had been thrown open. Alighting on a dark branch out of sight, he watched as she paced back and forth inside her apartment, occasionally pausing to move to a window to peer out at the trees. It was clear she was looking for him and so he made a show of landing directly in front of her, under the streetlamp where it's light would shine brilliantly off his white plumage. She jumped back, startled by his sudden appearance, shot him a half-hearted glare, then continued her pacing. Over the next few minutes, she would frequently glance at him with a considering expression that would cloud over with doubt before once again resuming her pacing. Clearly, Sarah was conflicted about something and trying to make a decision. Given how frequently she looked at him, he suspected it had to do with him.

Jareth thought of the beginning of her dream, in that gauze draped hall in his castle (one that hadn't existed before she dreamed it up). It was a much frequented scene in her dreams and one he found particularly appealing. He enjoyed the cat and mouse game it always began with and especially enjoyed how she responded when he finally stopped hiding from her. How she would resist her desire for a breath and then would melt against him, her eyes closing slowly as his warm breath drew up goosebumps along her skin.

He thought of the feel of Sarah's hair tangled in his fingers, the smell of the soft skin of her neck, the taste of her lips reddened by his attentions. He knew the sensation of her body pressed against his, her hands buried in his hair pulling him closer, her lips leaving a trail of soothing coolness across his skin and her quiet moans stoking the fire of his desire. If his kind ever dreamed, he would have dreamed of her and to much better effect.

She looked at him again and this time, she began moving back towards the window. His heart beat a bit faster. She hesitated and returned to her pacing. After a half dozen more times, a show of indecision as only a human could make, she finally went to the window, threw it open and backed away to the far end of the room. Jareth didn't hesitate in accepting the offer.

At last, he thought hungrily as he stretched his wings. In his mind there could only be one reason for inviting him in. He covered the distance to her window in half a breath and, once inside, he changed forms in a smooth transition, a flurry of feathers into fabric. He chose to forego the shower of glittering magic, for expediency's sake. Sarah was before him, seeking him out again, in reality not dreams. She had dressed in the typical Aboveground knit shirt that, thankfully, clung to her figure more gracefully that the denim jeans did; her collar bone was exposed beneath the curtain of her straight, dark hair, which she now kept shorter than when she was younger. Her parted lips trembled in anticipation, while her bright green eyes flashed with determination. In a few more steps, she would be in his arms and, at last, he would show Sarah that he was an eager, satisfying lover.

Having moved steadily from flight to stride, he quickly covered the ground between them. So lost in anticipation, it took him a moment to register that she was rapidly backing away. It took another moment to realize she wasn't leading him to the couch or bedroom—she was trying to put furniture between them. This was no coquettish display, after all Sarah wasn't the type to play hard to get. He paused his advancement with a disgruntled noise. Apparently, she had less amorous goals in mind when inviting him in. He leaned against the armchair, folded his arms and waited for her to speak with an expression that he hoped managed to disguise most of his disappointment.

Sarah seemed to recover her confidence, now that he had dropped his predatory approach, raised her chin slightly and asked in a steady voice, "What do you want with my brother?"

Jareth was absolutely confused. They'd had this conversation less than an hour ago in her dream. Didn't she remember? Confusion did not sit well with the Goblin King. That, combined with his disappointment, made him irritable and so when he spoke, it was sharper than he normally would have been.

"I have already answered that question, Sarah. Try another one."

Sarah's expression of disappointment, mixed with what appeared to be shame, cleared the matter up for him. "Ah," he realized aloud, "I see. You didn't know the dream was real."

Her fierce blush seemed to confirm his statement and she said quietly, "I had hoped it wasn't. I had hoped that..." she trailed off and he finished her thought for her.

"You had hoped that when you visit me in your dreams, I am nothing more than a figment of your subconscious." He felt he should be offended, but his lingering disappointment diluted all other emotions. No, there was not likely to be any amorous embraces tonight. Sarah was too focused on this matter with her brother and he doubted that even he had enough charm to distract her from it.

Stifling a sigh, he pretended to take great interest in the decor of her living room. The first object of any significance that his eyes fell upon was a bookend that was the spitting image of his formerly mutinous gardener.

"Well! If it isn't good old Hoghead," he used the wrong name intentionally, waiting to see if Sarah corrected him. When she didn't, he continued, "He was rather despondent when you cut off communication with him. Lay about moping. Wouldn't perform any of his duties. As a result, the fairies along the perimeter grew so numerous that one Challenger to my Labyrinth didn't even make it into the Labyrinth at all. It is remarkable the amount of devastation tiny teeth can make, when there are so many of them." He tutted ruefully and moved on to examine the other nicknacks on her shelves. "It was just as well. The child made a splendid goblin with quite a lot of potential. He's certainly far happier in my care than in the care of his wretched father." He turned to Sarah, who was listening with horror to this glibly told tale, and tapped the side of his nose, "I didn't give the man a chance to turn back, as I offered you, though he pleaded. Said I could keep the child without challenge. His sort rather deserves what they get." Turning back to her bookshelf, he tilted his head the better to read the titles. Had he realized how very birdlike that particular motion had been, he might not have done it. In any case, the sight caused Sarah to chuff a half-laugh which drew his attention. She grew a bit braver and finally spoke again.

"If my brother is... 'tapping into' some kind of power from your realm, how can we stop it?"

"Stop it? Whatever for?" He looked at her, sincerely bewildered. Why would anyone give up power willingly? Certainly no one in his world would. And from what he understood of this world, he doubted humans would either.

"You didn't answer my question," she quickly challenged.

"I have no need to answer your questions," he replied just as quickly, initiating a rapid exchange.

"But you've said that your kind can't lie."

"That doesn't mean we must offer information against our will."

"You were willing to give me answers before."

"Whether or not I was willing is debatable."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah." He said exasperatedly, turning away from her to examine a rack full of CDs, "You may ask all the questions you want. If the words are right, I may deign to answer. Should I choose to do so."

"What did you mean, whether or not you were willing is debatable? You were more than willing to talk then." Clever girl that she was, she seemed to recognise this was a subject that, while not directly related to her concern over Toby, was crucial to understand when dealing with him. As he had wanted to address the matter of her dreams for years, being unable to do so while in a dream, he didn't evade the question.

"Well, it was your dream, Sarah. My compliance was what you expected." He hadn't paused his examination of her music collection while answering and now suddenly felt particularly drawn to a group of cases, with the same name printed on the spine. He pulled one out to examine and, seeing the face on the cover, his eyebrows flew up. Well! This explains quite a bit, he thought. There happened to be a mirror above the CD rack and he looked at his reflection, tilting his head and raising a hand to mimic the pose. The resemblance was undeniable. Behind him, Sarah was watching him with an expression of impatience. He read the title, magic aiding the translation for him, and gave a short chuckle. "'Heroes' indeed. That's nothing short of ironic." He pulled out a few other cases from the same artist and surveyed them with great interest. "Tell me, Sarah. Have you been a fan of this David Bowie person for a considerable amount of time?" Using the mirror, he looked at her with amusement, but saw from her expression that she didn't see the relevance and sighed, putting them back. That was a discussion best saved for later, anyway. He turned to face her and awaited her next question.

"You said your compliance was what I expected. What do you mean?"

Gazing at her collarbone, remembering how in dreams she shivered when he ran his fingers along it, he answered quietly, "While in your dreams, I am obliged to be as you expect. And, it would seem that you generally expect me to be fickle, teasing and cruel."

When Sarah had come to the Underground, he had thought her expectations burdensome then. These dreams were far worse; these expectations left him starved and completely exhausted. At times she would be searching for him, reaching for him and, though he knew her embrace would calm the fire coursing through his veins, he was forced to stay just out of her reach. Other times she would be melting against him, her soft sighs stirring his desire and her cool hands sending shivers down his spine, when suddenly he was compelled to tell her to awaken and she would, disappearing from his arms. Yet another night, she would respond to his kisses eagerly and just when he thought she might allow them both gratification, he'd feel the magic come over him and he'd become cold and withholding, leaving him furious and disappointed when she awoke and the magic faded.

After years of these dreams, he knew where to kiss her to elicit a gasp, how to breathe on her skin to cause shudders, what words to say that would darken her eyes with desire. Not that it did any good—she never expected him to fulfill her desires and how bitter that agony of denial was. His only consolation was that the next time Sarah was in his realm again, he would not be so bound and he had every intention of making the most of it. She would see he was not fickle, nor unnecessarily cruel. Teasing, yes. But also determined and passionate. He was a generous, if demanding, lover.

He thought these things, as his eyes devoured her soft curves and smooth skin, but he did not speak them.

"It is quite cruel of you to think of me so," was all he said, and that delivered in a fairly playful tone with a look of mild chastisement, so that she wouldn't know how deeply he felt it. He carried on with his exploration of her living room as he continued, "I doubt you suffer from these dreams as much as I do—humans being so accustomed to self-restraint. Your kind seems to gain some strange sort of pleasure from denial," he said, leaning in to examine a framed print on her wall with a furrowed brow, as if the evidence for humanity's peculiarity was to be found in it. He turned back to her and smirked, "We Fae, on the other hand, are bound only by a few laws—and, in cases like this, the expectations of the mortals we interact with—and therefore, as a rule, my kind doesn't practice self-denial."

"So, you answered my question about Toby because I expected you to answer it?" She was looking at him skeptically.

"Yes." He was slightly disappointed that she hadn't seemed to take in anything about the effect her dreams had on him. It was a testament to her single-mindedness on the matter of her brother.

"And if I expect you to answer a question now about Toby, you will?"

"Perhaps." He was now standing before another bookshelf and said tangentially, "Why is it you possess so many books? Your place of employment grants you access to thousands of them. Surely you don't need to collect more, do you? And it can't be that these are all your favorites, there's simply too many here to be your exclusive favorites."

Sarah tossed her hands into the air exasperatedly, "If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?"

He paused, wondering if he could turn this offer into something a bit more suggestive, but decided against it. "Probably not," he answered truthfully, "It would depend on the question. I'm certainly willing to discuss favorite books, but as you and I do not share common sources of literature, I doubt it would be a particularly enlightening conversation."

Sarah rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers and sighed. She was clearly tired. That meant her patience would soon run out, at which point she'd probably order him to leave and lapse into a stony silence, so Jareth elected to give way a little. Even if there was to be no intimacy tonight, at least she was speaking with him and he wanted to draw it out as long as possible.

"Your brother's new found power… it isn't something that can simply be 'stopped.' It is a part of him. It was just lying dormant for a time."

"But it isn't dormant any more." Sarah's question was given as a statement, to which he nodded once, then turned back to the book he'd been examining. "And this power...if we can't get rid of it, is it something he can learn to control?"

"With time. And training. And the proper surroundings."

"By that you mean the Labyrinth," she said testily.

"By that I mean the realm from which this power emanates. From the Underground."

"Hoggle said that was what it was called... your world" Sarah said softly in a faraway voice, her face growing pensive as she thought back to her old friend. She lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment—long enough that Jareth stopped his perusal to cast a glance at her. Feeling his gaze brought her out of her revere. "So, Toby would need to train with you in the Underground, to be able to control his powers." Jareth, again, nodded once. "How long would he have to stay there to be properly trained?" He snapped the book shut so suddenly and loudly, that Sarah jumped.

"Sarah, no one with such powers as he will soon possess can simply run loose in your world. It would be far too dangerous, for others and for himself."

"You do it!" Sarah protested.

"I am Fae!" Jareth declared righteously, drawing himself up tall and gathering his magic around him until the air fairly crackled with power. "No mere mortal can manage the power that I possess—can keep it in check—while traversing between realms!" His voice grew louder as he spoke, "Should Toby attempt it, he would perish in the effort. Once his powers are manifest, it will have repercussions on both our worlds. Repercussions that could result in death. Once Toby becomes a denizen of my realm, he will remain so permanently." Jareth felt the strain all Fae instinctively feel when they are skirting the truth—his seemingly indignant series of declarations were not false statements, but were certainly not the full truth—and he made sure to keep his expression aloof. It wouldn't do to let Sarah know he was withholding significant  
details.

Sarah, a bit shaken by his manner and certainly discouraged by his words, sat down rather dejectedly on the armrest of her couch. Jareth, having expended much of his nervous energy with his dramatic little display, noted that though the couch was covered in an extremely obnoxious print, it was spacious enough for two to recline comfortably upon and looked sturdy enough to withstand quite a bit of activity. As if she could read his lascivious thoughts, she scowled suspiciously at him. "If you are… bound... by my... expectations," Sarah said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "then if I expect you to... leave my brother alone… you will have to?" Jareth's first response was to toss his head back and laugh heartily, which aggravated Sarah enough that she stood up quickly. Before she could snap at him, he stopped laughing suddenly and fixed her with a steely gaze.

"You misunderstand. I am required to conform to your expectations when summoned by your dream. I was similarly bound when you entered my realm as a challenger to my Labyrinth. I am not," he placed great emphasis on the word, "required to oblige your whims at any other time." Here he let his expression soften and stepped closer. "In any case, my 'leaving your brother alone' would not be in Toby's best interests. As his powers grow, he will find them unmanageable. He will need training. Without it, he will be a danger to himself ...and those around him. His peers ...your family ...you." At that, he felt an uncomfortable stirring of emotion. As infuriating as Sarah was, the idea of her being injured—or worse—troubled him. Moving closer still, he added, "I would never want anything to befall you." He said it without a trace of his usual sarcasm, but with a measure of unusual earnestness.

Sarah had been regarding him skeptically, but at mention of Toby being in danger, anxiety overtook her expression. Looking away, her eyes fell on a photo of Toby and tears sprang to her eyes. Had she been watching the Goblin King, she would have witnessed a series of emotions soften the usual haughty face—concern and protectiveness, followed swiftly by sympathy at the sight of her tears.

That last emotion, so unfamiliar in his experience save for in connection to her, compelled him to go to her—using magic for the first time since his entrance, to appear beside her. "Sarah," he murmured soothingly. His chest pressed against her shoulder, he tried to wrap his arms around her but Sarah, still struggling to stop her flow of tears, pulled away.

"No, don't." She took two steps away only to slam into his chest as he materialized directly in her path.

"Sarah—" he tried again, but was interrupted by her exclamation.

"Don't!" Sarah's anger rose and she clung to it, as if it would save her from drowning in impotent fear. "Don't touch me!" She pushed viciously back from him and swatted at his arms, but when she moved he manifested in her path yet again, with an amused expression. It was far easier for him to play the pursuer than the comforter.

"When usually we meet, you rather want me to touch you" he purred. She glared at him, color rising to her cheeks, and replied with a phrase she'd used often before—albeit in a very different tone, soft and low rather than the youthful petulance.

"That's not fair. I can't control my dreams." He caught her eye with an insufferable smirk and she snapped, "If I could, I would have stop having them altogether."

"Now Sarah, that's not an entirely true statement," he murmured into her hair, having once again materialized behind her. "You simply would have had them end quite differently." She blushed fiercely now and moved away quickly.

"Get out of my head," she growled through gritted teeth.

"I'm not reading your mind," he said with a sultry look, "It's your body that gives you away."

"Get out of my house."

He moved toward her, looking like a cat stalking its prey and replied, "Such passion! You know it could be put to much better use."

"Get out!" She was backing away rapidly, then realized with some alarm that she was backing toward the bedroom.

"By all means, Sarah, lead the way. I've often wanted to see that room from the inside."

"You manipulative bastard," she spat and pushed past him back into the living room.

"Not the pet name I'd choose for myself," he mused with a raised eyebrow, turning around to follow her, "but I suppose I could grow used to it, given it is said with the proper amount of reverence. Perhaps while you climax…"

With that lewd addition, Sarah reached her limit. She had made her way back to the open window and now spun around to shout, "Out!" Her expression dark and ferocious, he realised he had gone too far. No amount of contrition from him now would appease her, but he tried anyway.

"Perhaps I went too far with that statement—"

"Get out!"

"Clearly I did."

"Now!"

"If I could offer my most sincere—"

"NOW!" Sarah very nearly roared.

Jareth closed his mouth abruptly, apology still on his tongue, and glared at her. No one shouted at him. He was a king! And yet this impudent little mortal had the audacity to order him about and shout—shout!—at him. And the worst of it was that he, Jareth, King of the Goblins, Ruler of the Labyrinth, felt compelled to stoop so low as to apologize. No, the real worst of it was that his next impulse would be to plead with her—beg her to stop being angry, to forgive him and let him take her in his arms. To be brought low, so that he would beg, was unthinkable for his kind and only his indignation saved him from doing so.

He was painfully aware of the pathetic display he'd made last time she was in the Underground. It had been at the end of her challenge, when the binds of her expectations had already been loosed and he no longer had conform to them so strictly. She did expected a struggle, a verbal battle, and he ably provided one, but not simply because she wanted it—he had been frantic to keep both Toby and her in his realm. Just a few moments longer and the boy would have been his, and if she had agreed to his beseeching offer, she would have been his too. For years, whenever he thought back to how he had begged, the humiliation of it had rankled at him and he'd vowed never to condescend that way again. Yet here he was, less than a breath away from doing it again.

With a deep inhalation to steady himself, he tried a foreboding tone, "Toby will need my assistance, Sarah. He will need to return with me. And soon."

"You—"

"'Stay the hell away from him.' Yes, yes, I know your feelings on the matter." He interrupted, waving a hand dismissively, "But regardless of how you feel, you will need my aid."

"We'll have to get by without it."

"He belongs with me, Sarah."

"Like hell he does. I won't let you have him again."

After regarding her for a long moment, no longer the thwarted lover but a calculating opponent, he said quietly, "We shall see."

Rather than take the window, he chose to disappear in an explosion of shimmering magic that lingered unnaturally long in the air before slowly settling onto her carpet (where it remained forever after, despite repeated vaccumings, being what a professional cleaner referred to as "the most tenacious glitter I ever saw" and which future tenants chose too cover with an oddly placed armchair). Sarah slammed the window shut with force, but little satisfaction, and looking at the clock, gave up on sleep. She went to the kitchen to brew some strong coffee. Had she looked at the CD rack, she would have noticed a final insult; all her David Bowie albums had disappeared with Jareth.

* * *

Sarah was waiting for Toby after school, leaning against her car in an effort to stay awake. She'd made it through work somehow, grateful that it was busy enough that she didn't have time to think, and was now nursing her fifth cup of coffee. She felt jittery and wasn't certain if it was the caffeine or the anxiety from her confrontation with Jareth in the wee hours of that morning.

Now that she had nothing to do but wait, she found her mind running over (and over and over) everything he'd said. Toby's growing power was not a figment of his imagination. It was real and he was in danger because of it. And Jareth wanted to teach him to control it. But that would entail taking him back to his world and he planned to keep him. Her baby brother would become one of them forever.

Whenever she got to that thought, her protective rage flared and she was ready to kill that son-of-a-bitch if he so much as laid a finger on her brother. Then, her mind would circle back to the fact that Toby's abilities would make him a danger to himself and the rage was drowned in a wave of fear. Because, even though the information came from the Goblin King—hardly what she'd have considered a reliable source a day ago—she knew it was true. She had known it intuitively the moment he'd said it.

Beyond that, and most surprisingly, she believed Jareth was telling her the truth—more or less—throughout their entire conversation. It was a strange feeling, to trust someone you viewed as an antagonist, but she did. Something about the look his face when he spoke earnestly to her...

After her experience in the Labyrinth, she'd devoured everything she could read about the Fae. And she'd often wondered if that tradition that they could not tell a lie was something the Fae themselves had propagated so as to dupe more witless humans. But Sarah had learned to rely on her ability to read people and it told her that while Jareth was not to be trusted completely, he wasn't lying to her. And that he harbored some kind of fond feelings for her. Beyond the blatant lust.

And that thought brought her back to the matter of her dreams. She felt color rising to her cheeks as she thought of some of those dreams. She wished she'd asked more about them. How did they work? Why was he bound by her expectations? Sarah didn't remember much from that final confrontation—it was so long ago and had happened so fast—but that statement of his, that he was 'exhausted from living up to her expectations,' had always stood out in her memory because of the defeat his face had shown. It had emboldened her, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, and the words had flowed out of her (at least until she reached that final line). He'd often said a variation of that significant phrase in her dreams, snarkily remarking on her beliefs, murmuring that she should reconsider her assumptions. She'd never taken it seriously, always believing it was nothing more than a figment of her subconscious, recalling that memorable statement. But, apparently, it wasn't just a figment of her subconscious.

And oh, how that knowledge needled her. That her enemy should know her so intimately, should know how to arouse her passions and stoke her desire, was near perfect mortification. It would have been complete mortification, had he not complained of it so plainly, if glibly. If her dreams aggravated him, that was a small victory, even if it came at her expense too. But, it begged the question: if they were so torturous for him, why did he allow them to happen?

But then, the motivations and actions of Goblin Kings are impenetrable. What he had made clear, even from the very moment she'd met him, was his intention to keep her brother.

After he had left, worry for her brother had overtaken all other thoughts and it had taken an act of will not to call and check on Toby in the middle of the night. By dawn, she'd decided to wait until she could talk with him in person. She'd run through a dozen different ways to start the conversation, but each had seemed less palatable that the previous. She was still no closer to coming up with the right words when she saw him step out the school door.

Watching him approach the car, she tried to put her finger on what was different about him. He was certainly walking with more confidence, shoulders back and head high, which was a change from his usual slouching shuffle. But there was something else, that she wasn't able to define. He greeted her with a grin and patted his stomach.

"Dairy Queen again? I'm gonna get fat on all this ice cream," he practically sang.

Tossing his bag in the car, Toby folded his long limbs to squeeze into the front seat. "How do you move this seat back?" he asked and watching his knees smashed into the dashboard suddenly she saw what was different.

"Have you grown over night?" Sarah asked in genuine wonder as she pulled out of the school's driveway. He did seem taller than before. "Under the seat, there's a lever."

"You've got to get a new car. One with power seats and windows at least."

"Yeah," Sarah answered sarcastically, "When you start making the big bucks, you can buy me one."

"Have dad get you one," said Toby with the air of presenting a solution which should be obvious. "He's always offering to."

"I'm not going to have dad to buy me a car, Toby. I'm an adult and adults don't have their daddies buy them cars." She looked sideways at him and changed the subject, "Seriously, you look taller than before."

"Guess I hit another growth spurt. We are going to Dairy Queen, right? I'm starving."

"No wonder," Sarah smiled fondly at him, before turning her attention back to the road.

"Slugbug Yellow!" Toby shouted with glee as he punched Sarah in the arm.

"What?! Where?" Sarah was skeptical, but sure enough, in her rearview mirror there was a yellow Volkswagen Beetle driving the opposite direction, rapidly shrinking behind them.

"I'll bet I can get ten slugbugs by the time we get to Dairy Queen."

"Toby, there aren't even five Bugs in this whole town. There's no way you're getting ten. Each one would have to pass us multiple times."

"Seriously, I bet I can." Toby said confidently, "I just have to wish for it, see? I wish—"

"Toby! Don't!" Sarah practically shouted, but it was too late.

"...I could get ten slugbugs on the way to Dairy Queen." He finished, not seeming to have even registered her protest. Immediately there was a noise, like snickering animals, barely audible over the rumble of the car. It stopped as quickly as it started and, if not for the eerie familiarity of the sound, Sarah might have dismissed it as part of her imagination. A frantic look about the floorboards of her car and back seat revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Toby didn't appear to have noticed anything amiss, as he continued to scour the passing streets for another Volkswagen. "Ha! See! Slugbug Blue!" He pounded his fist into her arm again as a decrepit looking Beetle pulled out to cross the road ahead of them.

Sarah's lips drew into a tight line. This was not good. She had been planning on talking to him about not using this new-found power. The fact that he was using it so flippantly didn't bode well for their discussion. She flinched as he punched her yet again. "Red one!" He crowed, pointing to a Beetle that had just pulled in ahead of them. "Okay, I'll let you get the next one... There! Do you see it? The blue one again!" Sarah saw it, darting across the street in front of them again, but didn't give a sign of recognition. While she usually played this game willingly, it had suddenly taken on an eerie feel. How such a run-down vehicle could get ahead of them on side streets in order to cross in front of them again, she couldn't fathom—it had to be magic. Sarah gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white.

Toby, taking Sarah's silence as inattention, groaned, "Come on, you had to have seen it! Well, I'm counting it as number four."

Sarah noted with discomfort that, so far, she hadn't caught a glimpse of any of the drivers—either the windows were tinted (an unusual after-market feature for a Beetle) or the light had been glinting off them too brightly. After two more 'slugbugs', each with diminishing enthusiasm, Toby stopped hitting Sarah and settled for merely pointing them out. "Slugbug Yellow again, behind us. … Slugbug green, on the left." After a long silence, he looked at her sadly, "What's wrong? Why aren't you playing?" He looked disappointment personified and she remembered that he was still just a kid. Of course he wanted to play games using his power. She took a deep breath.

"I don't think that's the way you should use your powers, Toby." He brightened at her indirect acknowledgment of what he'd been trying to convince her of all week. "That kind of ability...it shouldn't be used for things like winning a game."

"What if I used it to win the lottery and gave all the money away to charity? That's a game, but I'd be using it to benefit others…" Sarah was shaking her head.

"No, Toby. You shouldn't use it at all."

He scoffed at that. Clearly, he though not using his powers was an absurd suggestion, which he didn't hesitate to state by saying, "Why the hell not?"

"Because…" Sarah floundered a bit here. She wasn't ready to launch into their history in the Goblin Kingdom. "Because you don't know why it's happening or where it's coming from. You don't know—"

"Where it's coming from doesn't matter." Toby interrupted her testily, "Why it's happening doesn't matter. All that matters is that I have it and can use it. Why shouldn't I? It's a gift! Like being able to draw or write stories. What if someone told you to stop writing stories, because you didn't know where your imagination came from? Would you stop?"

Toby's logic had a point, so Sarah tried coming from a different angle. "There could be unforeseen consequences to your wishes. Every myth has some kind of consequence to wishes being given. What if these wishes are changing you somehow?"

"What, are they making me taller?" Toby's voice was dripping with sarcasm now, "Is that why I've hit this growth spurt?"

"Maybe!"

"That's bullshit. Come on, Sarah. That's bullshit and you know it."

"Or, maybe you wish for something and something bad happens to someone else."

"Only if I make stupid wishes. But I'm not stupid. I'm not going to wish for something that would hurt someone else—"

"What about Jeremy in the cafeteria?" Sarah interrupted quickly.

"That's not fair. I didn't even know I could do it yet."

"But it still happened. And it could happen again."

"No," Toby insisted, "I wouldn't let it happen again. I have this under control." Sarah let out a sigh, but didn't reply. They were pulling in to the Dairy Queen parking lot and she decided to drop it for now. Toby looked out the window and sighed too, noting in a dejected tone, "...and there's the blue bug again. That makes ten."

* * *

 **A/N: The suspense builds! And so does the word count! At this rate, my last chapter will be as long as a novel.**

 **I suspect that I may have put too much of Jareth recalling details about Sarah's sexy dreams, but every time I try to cut some of it out, I feel like it takes away from the whole thing. But then, when I read it over, I think it's slowing the whole chapter down. And so I try to edit some out but end up leaving it. I kinda feel like Jareth would just keep lustfully going back to those memories and they are a big part of his motivation with Sarah. Plus: the UST! But perhaps it is egregious?**

 **Your thoughts? Should I cut back on it?**

 **Also, I hope all you dear readers know what the slugbug game is, otherwise Toby and Sarah's interaction makes very little sense.**


	6. Chapter 6

Sarah and Toby sat in an uncomfortable silence while eating their ice cream, in a faded booth at the local Dairy Queen. Toby had been delighted to prove to Sarah that he could make any wish come true—to make her believe in his new ability—but it had been short-lived. Across the table, Sarah was half-heartedly poking at her treat and surreptitiously watching him, then avoiding eye contact when he looked up. He sighed again.

"I wish you understood this is a good thing." Sarah's head snapped up and her eyes flashed furiously, causing Toby to wave his hands dismissively, "Don't worry, it doesn't work like that. I can't wish you to change your mind on anything important. It was just a figure of speech."

"That is exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about, Toby," Sarah hissed, looking around nervously as if suspicious the other customers were eavesdropping. "You say something off-hand and it happens. That's what I'm worried about." As she said it, she was acutely aware that wasn't entirely true, there was something else she was very worried about. Someone she didn't want to think about right now. One thing at a time, she thought and hurried to add, "And what do you mean 'on anything important'? Have you been trying to control people's minds?!"

Toby rolled his eyes in exasperation because of course she would take it there; as if he was some maniacal villain plotting to build an army of mindless zombies.

"No, I haven't been trying to control people's minds. I'm not a monster, Sarah. I just wished for things like extra servings at lunch or to be excused early from class—and half the time that doesn't even work. I tried wishing for a better grade in science class, but it didn't happen. I think it's just like the power of suggestion—if a suggestion would influence someone, then it will. If they already have their mind made up about something, it wouldn't. Besides, you know I wouldn't wish anything that would really change anyone." He suddenly looked very hurt, "You know I wouldn't, right?"

Sarah sighed. "Of course not. I know you wouldn't." Toby was a good kid—really, truly good. A better person than she was at his age. "I'm just really worried. I…" Sarah hesitated. This was the moment, the moment when she needed to tell him about that night all those years ago. About her own terrible wish and the Labyrinth and how the magic from that world had somehow latched onto him and how the Goblin King wanted to take him back to that world. Once he knew, surely he'd see that he had to stop using these powers. It was the only way to keep him safe. She gathered her courage and was about to begin, when a light voice interrupted her.

"Toby?" A girl had approached the table and was smiling shyly at her brother, who beamed back at her dazzlingly.

"Becca. Hi." The dreamy quality to his voice told Sarah this wasn't just another classmate.

"How are you?" This Becca girl practically sighed.

"Good. How are you?" Toby was gazing up at her with barely contained adoration. She had never seen her brother so smitten. It was all Sarah could do to keep from snorting aloud.

"Good." Next came a long moment in which both clearly struggled to come up with a conversational topic. Becca came up with one first, "Weird about those rats, huh? They had to cancel volleyball practice this afternoon, so the exterminators could clear out the gym."

"Yeah," Toby replied with enthusiasm, "I heard they were what kept tripping the fire alarms. I guess they got them on video, somehow pulling the alarms."

"Yeah, I heard that too." That conversational topic exhausted, they gazed at each other for a few moments, while Sarah watched in amusement, before Becca once again came up with a new topic. "What did you get?" She nodded to his nearly empty cup. Each of her own hands were carrying a Blizzard, rapidly melting as she stood in front of them. Sarah noted that Becca had yet to acknowledge her presence.

"Reese's Pieces. You?"

"Oh, I love that kind too. But I got Butterfingers this time."

"Oh. Butterfingers is good too." Sarah cleared her throat, causing both of them to jump. As cute as this little exchange was, she really wanted to get back to their conversation. She'd finally worked up the courage to tell him about the Labyrinth and now she wanted to just get it over with. "Um," said Toby awkwardly, "This is my sister, Sarah. This is Becca."

"Hi."

"Hi," Becca barely glanced at Sarah, before looking back at Toby. The girl sure had it bad. Luckily for Sarah, Becca's parents were calling for her to join them a few booths down. Sarah exchanged knowing looks with her mother. "Well," she said, "I guess I better go." She slowly walked away, but then suddenly turned back and said, "I had another dream that you were in."

Toby immediately began to blush and stammered, "Oh. Uh… I—uh…" Becca blushed too and started to walk away. Suddenly, Toby remembered how to talk and called after her, "I hope it was a good one!" Becca looked over her shoulder and smiled in a way that would have been coy, if she hadn't been quite so red.

Hearing that exchange about a dream, and the cocky smirk on Toby's face as he turned back to his ice cream, caused a chill to run down Sarah's spine. His look resembled another person's smirk a little too closely. But it also gave her an idea.

She'd been ready to launch into her explanation—Remember that story I used to tell you about the Goblin King stealing children?—but now it occurred to her that a more oblique approach could have the benefit of easing into the confession (which she was dreading) and also giving some kind of proof that she wasn't simply pulling his leg.

"Toby," she began, "you know those dreams you have about the maze?" He stiffened up immediately.

"You mean I used to have?" He refused to meet her eyes—as sure sign he wasn't being truthful. Apparently, he wanted to continue pretending he didn't still have them.

She leveled a look at him that clearly said she wasn't buying it. "I know you still have them."

"Yeah," he readily admitted with a sigh, "I kinda figured you did." He looked dejectedly into his now empty cup. Sarah pushed what was left of her ice cream to him and he took it eagerly, but didn't quite make eye contact, feeling slightly guilty for trying to mislead her.

"Want to know how I know?" He briefly caught her eye, curiosity glinting in them, but immediately returned his attention to devouring her ice cream as if she was discussing nothing of great import.

"I know because whenever you have the dream, I have it too." Toby's eyes flew up to her face in surprise. He clearly hadn't been expecting that. "Only I'm not chasing some voice. I'm chasing you." Toby sat back in his seat, ice cream forgotten, and just stared at her. "I'm chasing you, trying to get you to stop, but you never hear me. You are always just ahead of me and I can never catch up. And I know that if you get to the castle at the center of the La-" she corrected herself to word he used for it, "the Maze, then something terrible is going to happen."

At that pronouncement, which Sarah hadn't thought particularly incendiary, Toby came back to life. His expression had changed from one of amazement to anger.

"Why would something terrible happen?" He was scowling skeptically and Sarah faltered a bit.

"Because ...you'll be trapped. He'll keep you there. Forever."

"Who?" Now his skepticism morphed suddenly into a burning curiosity and again Sarah faltered. She was afraid to say it, as if it would make it all real. Which she knew it was.

"The Goblin King." Toby had leaned forward while awaiting her answer and now sat back.

"The Goblin King," he said dully. "The Goblin King from that story you used to tell me?"

She couldn't quite read his expression here, whether or not he believed her.

"Yes."

Toby shook his head, doubtfully. "So the Goblin King is trying to lure me to his castle so he can turn me into a goblin. Forever." Sarah nodded miserably. She could tell this was not going right. He seemed not only incredulous, but also angered by her explanation. "That is just…" He struggled to find words to express himself, "That is just so stupid. Really stupid. Like ludicrous."

"Toby," Sarah began, but was cut off by Toby suddenly leaping out of his seat.

"I gotta use the bathroom," he said and escaped down the hall.

Sarah rested her face in her hands and said to herself, "That did not go well."

* * *

Toby stood in front of the restroom mirror, staring at himself. He was a little shaken by Sarah's proclamations—that she shared this dream with him somehow, that in them she tried to stop him, that there was danger lurking at the end of the maze—but had tried to hide it from her by fleeing to the restroom. The only part that didn't surprise him was who she said waited at the end, as he himself had begun to suspect the dreams were about the Goblin King's world. The realization had begun slowly over the past week as he got further and further in the dream, closer to the castle. One night, while running down a forest path, having finally gotten beyond the maze, something triggered a memory about something he'd once read.

Years ago, he'd found the slim red book on the shelf at Sarah's apartment and had been drawn to it. To be more accurate, he'd found it hidden behind a bunch of other books (what had possessed him to move them in the first place, he didn't know) and after flipping through a few pages, he realized it was the story he'd always begged her to tell him as a child. About the girl who rescued her baby brother from an evil faery king. The story that always made Sarah a little sad and guilty looking.

He'd snuck it out of her house, somehow certain she wouldn't let him borrow it (though she never refused him anything, so he couldn't put his finger on why he suspected that) and had read it at least a dozen times over.

In reading it, Toby found himself more interested in the parts of the story Sarah had always glossed over. He read and reread everything with the Goblin King. Sarah's telling of the story had no final confrontation with the evil King (who, Toby felt, seemed far less evil than he was accused of being by both Sarah and the heroine of the novel). Sarah's version had always wrapped up tidily with the girl facing the King, demanding he give her brother back, and waking up in her bed with her brother asleep in the room across the hall. While he couldn't argue that being turned into a goblin was a good thing, he couldn't help but think the child ended up missing out on something.

Weeks later, when Sarah had found the book in his room, his hunch had proved valid; she was furious. The only other time she'd yelled at him so much was when he'd tried to feed her owl. There had been the same frantic sort of fear in her fury that had terrified him. After her flurry of rage, Sarah had taken it away and he hadn't been able to find it again, not in her apartment nor in the local library.

In the dream, he'd crested a hill and saw the castle before him, with a massive junkyard in the lowlands below, and the sight of the trash brought back the memory of the story. Why the junkyard triggered it while the labyrinth itself did not, he couldn't understand, but for whatever reason, it did. The next day, he tried looking the book up at the library again, without luck. He'd thought, briefly, of asking Sarah if he could borrow her copy. He was certainly glad he hadn't, now.

Toby didn't believe there was any danger awaiting him at the end of his journey. The Goblin King would be there, but Toby felt certain that his intentions were not evil. He still held on to the belief that the Goblin King wasn't the villain Sarah thought him to be. And the idea that he would turn Toby into a goblin—he actually let out a sharp bark of laughter that echoed around the empty restroom. It was absurd. And it bothered him that Sarah was trying to stop him.

He knew the rest of their time that day would no doubt be one big lecture about not using his new-found ability and not getting to the castle at the center of the labyrinth. And he couldn't avoid it because he had to ride home in her car.

I wish I didn't have to.

The thought passed through his mind so quickly, he didn't have a chance to stop it. Immediately, there was a noise all around him, a dozen husky chuckles and shrieking titters, that stopped as suddenly as they started. He'd noticed it before, when he'd made a wish and it came true, but usually it could be blamed on a noisy classroom or static from a radio. This time, though, the restroom was completely silent and the sudden noise made him jump. Looking around, he found he was alone, and a small dread began to grow in his stomach. Nothing will happen, he tried to convince himself, it wasn't even a full wish.

Looking around the now eerily quiet restroom, he felt suddenly cold and hurried out. Sarah was waiting by the exit door and said softly, "Ready to go?" Toby couldn't think of an excuse to stall and he knew the lecture was coming one way or another—maybe it was best to get it over with—so he nodded.

"Want to say goodbye to your friend?" She tilted her head back towards where Becca was sitting with her family.

"No." He didn't feel like talking to anyone, not even Becca.

"Okay." She led the way out and Toby followed glumly behind her, trying to decide if it would be better to try to reason with her or just nod and smile as she gave all her arguments. He was leaning towards nodding and smiling (though probably without the smiles) when he ran smack into her back. She had stopped suddenly and peering around her, he saw what had brought her to a standstill. Inwardly, he groaned. Oh no, no no! I didn't really mean it. She had a flat tire. As they approached the car, it became apparent that both the front and back tire were flat. And as Sarah, with a suspicious look on her face, circled around, her sudden exclamation of frustration confirmed his fears. All four tires were flat. It seemed he wouldn't be riding home in Sarah's car afterall.

Sarah's face was livid. She sputtered several times before finally landing on a full sentence. "This!— You!— I just!— Did you make a wish?"

"I wouldn't wish for this!" He exclaimed a little too quickly.

Sarah looked as though she had a million things she wanted to say, but kept them to herself, looking stormily at him then her car. "Back inside," she ordered curtly, "We'll ask them to use their phone. I'll call the tow company, you call the parents."

Being a boy on the cusp of thirteen, it can be expected Toby didn't have the best sense of timing. While he should have followed Sarah mutely back into the restaurant, he couldn't resist the opportunity to press on a matter he'd been pursuing for the past month. "You know," he began slowly, as if it just occurred to him, "If you got a mobile phone, we wouldn't have to ask to use anyone's phone in a situation like this." He'd been trying to get his whole family to buy into using mobile phones, just so he could have one. Advertisements offering family plans were left everywhere they would be seen. The volume on the tv jumped several decibels whenever any commercial for a cellular phone network came on. He had been hinting, not subtly, that they would make a perfect gift for his birthday.

"This is not the time, Toby," she growled, then stopped and turned to add in an accusatory tone, "Besides, it looks like I'll be spending my money on replacing my tires instead."

"Hey, this isn't my fault—" Sarah quickly put her hand up and glared at him, cutting off further discussion.

He tried the home number and his mom's work, without success. Sarah had better luck and they had a ten minute wait for the tow truck that would take them to the tire shop.

"Why don't you use a can of Fix-A-Flat or something," Toby asked as they stood waiting in front of her car.

"I only have one can in the trunk," she said, with the air of one explaining something to a very stupid person, "And the shop can't patch the tire if you use that stuff. I'd rather have them patch them than have to pay for all new ones. I'm not made out of money, Toby." Her every word was laced with accusation, which he justly felt.

"Hey," a new voice sounded from behind them, "car trouble?" They turned to see Becca's family approaching them. Becca looked torn between delight at being in Toby's presence again and mortification that it was in the company of her parents. Her father, who had started the conversation, gave a low whistle when he saw the tires. "Wow. That is a tough break."

"Yeah," agreed Sarah, with a meaningful look at Toby, "We're waiting for a tow truck. Luckily, I've got Triple A."

The father nodded understandingly and introduced themselves. Sarah looked as though she'd rather not be social, but made an effort to smile a little while shaking everyone's hand. Her smile grew to be genuine while shaking Becca's hand. So, that meant that Sarah knew that he had a crush on her. With a shock of horror, it occurred to him that if Sarah had been in his maze dream, maybe she'd been in all of his dreams. He turned beet red and wanted to sink through the pavement. He shared a lot with Sarah, more than most boys shared with their sisters, but he wouldn't want Sarah watching him kiss Becca in a treehouse (which is what had happened in last night's dream). That tow truck couldn't come fast enough.

"We can give Toby a ride home, if you'd like," Becca's father offered. Toby immediately brightened up. Yes!

"No," Sarah was polite, but firm, "Thank you. But we wouldn't want to trouble you."

"It'll be no trouble at all!" Becca's mom piped up, "From what I hear from Becca, you don't live too far out of the way." Becca blushed furiously at this admission that she'd been discussing Toby with them and furthermore that she knew where Toby lived, despite having only had two conversations with him (the second being today's awkward display inside). Toby, of course, did not pick up on any of this and was looking with expectant hope at Sarah. She frowned at him, then turned with a less stern expression to Becca's father.

"Thanks, but I promised my stepmom I'd bring him home myself."

Toby grabbed her by the arm and dragged her a few steps away to hiss, "Sarah, no thirteen year old has to be chaperoned by a family member at all times. You are making me look weird!"

"With all that's been going on," she hissed back angrily, "'Weird' is the least of your concerns."

Becca's parents seemed to take Sarah's final 'no' without offense and offered to keep them company until the tow truck arrived. No amount of polite assurances that it wasn't necessary would sway them. Toby and Becca stood near each other, but neither had much to say with the grown ups around, so the conversation was mostly carried by her parents with a little assistance from Sarah. Toby fervently wished he was anywhere else ...but apparently his wishes couldn't overrule the Laws of Physics, as he wasn't teleported away.

When the truck finally pulled in, Becca's family said goodbye with sympathetic smiles. Toby, watching their car drive off, sighed and turned to glare at Sarah.

"Why do you have to be so ludicrously protective?" The word 'ludicrous', being fresh in his mind, was his new go-to adverb. Sarah, about to greet the tow truck driver approaching them, simply scowled in reply.

* * *

They had rode to the tire repair shop in a stony silence, neither willing to continue their discussion with the driver for an audience, and it continued in the grimy, rubber-scented waiting area. There they sat for twenty minutes, wedged in between a plump lady with a very loud cough and a very talkative elderly man—who wanted to discuss with Sarah in detail how the price of tires was inflated by 'black market' rubber. Toby, who had wanted to laugh at the unintended pun of the use of 'inflated' but was stopped short by a stern look from Sarah, made at least three trips to the payphone, leaving increasingly desperate messages for his parents.

"So," the tire mechanic said as he finally approached them, "I don't know what you ran over, but these tires look like they've been gnawed on by animals." Sarah was not surprised.

"Animals, huh?" Sarah said, watching her brother's face accusingly. He studiously looked at the floor.

"Yep. Got those bite marks like my kid's pet rat leaves on everything. Excepting these marks are bigger. And none are patchable. Got to replace every single one of 'em."

Toby looked as though he was feeling duly guilty as Sarah discussed the pricing on replacements. It took another twenty minutes before the mechanics were done, and at that point their dad, having gotten Toby's messages, showed up and offered to take him home. Sarah, beyond exhausted and knowing she was beat, said, "Yes. Please. Take him." She was in the midst of pulling her wallet from her purse when her father offered to pay for the tire replacements.

"You barely make any money as it is, honey, and you won't let me get you a new car… It's no wonder the tires all failed; that old jalopy is an accident waiting to happen-"

"Really, Dad, that's okay. I've got this." Much as she didn't need to add to her credit card debt, she was stubbornly trying to be financially independent. It was one thing to live in the same town as your wealthy parents and eat dinner at their house four nights a week. It was quite another to have them pay your bills. If Sarah was going to become a bookstore-employee turned successful author, she was going to do it by the sweat of her own brow. Though, if truth be told, her refusal to accept financial support from her father had less to do with that and more to do with avoiding following in her mother's financially irresponsible footsteps. Linda had been a fun mother and a brilliant actress, but had been embarrassingly bad with money.

"You look tired, honey," he said concernedly, as the three of them left the shop. Pulling her into a side hug, he added, "Why don't you come over for dinner?"

Sarah did not feel like another meal at her family's house, she just wanted to eat a tv dinner and sink herself into the tub, but she still hadn't finished her conversation with Toby and felt like it needed to happen sooner rather than later. Maybe after dinner would work—it'd give them time to calm down and give her a chance to find the right words. "Thanks Dad," she said, ignoring Toby's eyes pleading for her to say no, "that'd be nice."

Dinner turned out not to be nice as the main topic of conversation was the current rat infestation. Karen, who hated all manner of rodents, was exclaiming dramatically about the rats she'd seen in the yard the day before, though no one was really giving her their full attention. Their father, as usual, was training his full attention on eating, with occasional nods and well timed mumbles to serve as responses. Sarah was scrutinizing Toby's every move and expression. Toby, for his part, was trying hard to consume as many tacos as he could, as fast as humanly possible.

After ten solid minutes of Karen describing the entire occurrence, with special emphasis on the speed and size of the rats, their father rallied a contribution to the conversation by saying, "Rodents of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist." While normally this would have earned a chuckle or two from Sarah or Toby, neither were in spirits enough to appreciate it and Karen, not recognising the reference, took immediate offense.

"Christopher, I'm telling you I saw them with my own eyes! Are you doubting me?"

"He's quoting a movie, Karen," Sarah explained glumly, wanting to stop trouble before it started. Christopher hurried to reassure her that he did believe her, but Karen was now worked up beyond placating.

"Well, I don't think it is at all funny and I simply don't understand how you could joke about it! Here I am, watering the garden and calling for Toby to take out the trash, when at least five enormous rats scurry past. Just made my skin crawl. And the noises they made! You know that I detest rodents, Christopher, and I will not abide them living under our porch—or wherever they are. But I've called all the exterminators in town and they all say the soonest they could get here is the day after tomorrow! How can they possibly be all booked up? I want you to call them in the morning and insist—insist—that they come immediately!" Karen had mellowed considerably, but still had her moments.

"You know," Toby volunteered helpfully through a mouthful of food, "our school has a really bad rat problem right now. They had to cancel all the after school activities because they've got exterminators coming in. Maybe they're all booked up working on the school."

"The parking lot of the Dairy Queen has a rat problem too," said Sarah dryly, "Maybe there's a pattern to it." She was looking significantly at Toby, but he refused to make eye contact, choosing to glower into his soda instead.

"The school's infested?" Karen exclaimed, ignoring Sarah's comment, "That is just appalling. We pay good money in our taxes; the least they could do is keep the schools free of vermin. And they cancelled after school activities? Well then, no wonder there are kids running amuck on the streets. They had a segment on the evening news about a bunch of those Volkswagen Beetles being stolen by kids going for joyrides this afternoon. They must have been kids whose after school programs were cancelled."

Toby and Sarah had both frozen, mid bite, at this piece of information, but their dad responded with a hearty chuckle, "I doubt the sort of kids who go joyriding in stolen cars are the 'after school program' type, dear."

"Well, in any case, I think something should be done about this rat problem, especially here. I mean it, Christopher, I want you to call the exterminators first thing in the morning. And don't take no for an answer!"

Shortly after this, Toby asked to be excused, foregoing dessert to go to his room to 'finish homework'. Sarah waited a short while, then said she'd be heading home.

"You really do look peaky, Sarah," Karen said anxiously, "Try and get some rest. I know you haven't been sleeping, but whatever you're working on can wait. No deadline is worth your health." Sarah smiled wanly. Ten years ago, Karen's maternal concern would have annoyed her, but now she took it in stride. It was nice to have someone concerned for your well being, after all. If only it was simply a publisher's deadline that was keeping her up.

"I'm gonna go upstairs and say goodbye to Toby," was all she said.

After several knocks that went unanswered, Sarah opened the door and peered in. Toby had his headphones on, with the sound turned up so loud Sarah could identify the song. Bullet with Butterfly Wings was raging from the Discman and Sarah almost chuckled at the ironically-timed rat reference. She knocked loudly again on the open door and called his name loudly.

"What do you want," was his sullen reply. Toby was rarely sullen, so Sarah held back a comment about damaging his hearing and shut the door behind her.

"We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk."

"Well, just listen, then. You saw today what happened with your wishes."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He put his headphones back on and Sarah was forced to raise her voice to be heard over the music.

"I'm talking about my tires! And those Beetles! You know both of those were your doing."

"I didn't wish for your tires to get ruined," he exclaimed, unable to ignore her accusations in spite of himself.

"But you did wish you didn't have to ride with me, right?" He refused to respond, which she took for the silent assent that it was. "You see! Your wishes are getting out of hand! It's not enough to just be careful what you wish for. You need to stop wishing all together."

"What I need," Toby shouted loudly, "is to be left alone!"

Sarah was stunned for a moment. Toby had never shouted at her before. Self-doubt crept in and she wondered if maybe she should just drop it for now. Clearly he wasn't in a place to hear her. And if you tell him now, while he's this mad, her anxious inner voice worried, he might not take it well. He could end up hating you! You might lose him. Another equally insistent thought sprung up at that: If you don't warn him, you'll definitely lose him. Permanently.

"Toby," she plowed on blindly, "someone dangerous is going to come for you." Toby, who had turned petulantly away, stiffened and slowly turned to face her, with an incredulous look on his face. She hurried on, "He'll try and say he wants to help you, but he doesn't. He wants to take you away and keep you forever."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Goblin King." She said it seriously, without a trace of sarcasm, but Toby immediately scoffed.

"That's just a dream, Sarah."

"No, its—" Toby cut her protest off.

"Just a dream! And you know what? It's my dream. So you need to get the hell out of it!" Toby was shouting again, showing a sudden flare of anger she'd never witnessed in him before. "I've been trying to get to the end of it for the past three years, and I'm almost there. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stop because you have a "bad feeling" about it. You don't know anything about it!" All the guilt and self-doubt Toby had been feeling throughout the afternoon had turned into angry self-righteousness and he let Sarah feel the wrath of it. "And you don't know anything about my wishes either! They aren't out of my control and I'm not going to stop just because you say I should. I don't have to do what you say; I can do whatever I want!"

Later, while soaking in the bathtub in her little apartment, Sarah was able to see that she should have walked away at that point. Her little brother was in full-on defensive mode and wouldn't have been able to see the truth in a word she said. But in the moment Sarah was tired, her head ached and she was desperate to get through to him, so when her inner voice screamed out, But he has to stop, she listened to it.

"You have to stop!" Sarah was shouting too now, "You're going to get hurt! Or hurt someone else!"

"Go away, Sarah!" Toby shouted.

"No! You need to listen to me!" Sarah shouted back.

"No, I don't! I don't need to listen to anyone!" At this point, their screaming match—a completely unprecedented event in their entire history—had drawn the concerned attention of their parents, who showed up in the doorway just in time to witness Toby let fly his final volley. "And you know what Sarah? You can just fuck off!"

"Toby!" Karen exclaimed in utter horror.

"Watch your language, young man!" Their father said at the same time.

Toby, immediately feeling a twinge of regret at the stricken look on Sarah's face, folded his arms defensively and glared at the floor. Sarah, who wasn't overly bothered by foul language, felt wounded by Toby's hateful expression as much as his verbal outburst.

"Maybe," their father said gently, with a hand on Sarah's shoulder, "you should call it a night." Karen was still frowning at Toby, willing him to apologize, but it was obvious that Toby had nothing more to say. Sarah looked once more at Toby, who wouldn't meet her eyes, and nodded. There wasn't anything she could do at this point. As she turned to leave, a flash of white outside the window caught her eye. An owl, which had been perched on the window, stretched its wings and flew off, pausing just long enough to look at her piercingly.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh, those crazy teenage hormones! Make you crazy for the opposite sex, eat like there's no tomorrow and hurl obscenities at your loved ones.**

 **If you've been following this story for a while, you might notice that I changed the genres a bit. I kind of realized that there will be a lot more adventure than one might expect from a "Romance/Humor" genre. Rest assured, there will still be romance (though, to be clear, I will make Jareth wait for it) and attempts at 'humor'.**

 **The next two chapters are pretty much done but, like Hoggle's lovely jewels, they need a bit of polishing. And then, dear readers, we will be back in the Underground! And I don't mean London's public transit system.**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Just a quick note: there will be a reference to someone having died because of cancer. Initially, I didn't think to put a heads up but then realized it's possible someone might be dealing with grief by drowning themselves in frivolous Labyrinth fanfiction and might need a warning. I probably would have wanted that in the weeks after my own mom passed away, so... consider yourself warned. And a very very minor bit spoiler-ed.

* * *

The moment Sarah stepped over the threshold of her apartment, her phone began ringing. Hurrying into the kitchen to read the caller ID, she sighed disappointedly. It wasn't Toby calling to apologize, it was her grandmother.

"Of course," Sarah murmured with a slight groan, then picked up the receiver, "Hi Nan." It would do no good to let her recorder take the call—Nan would just hang up and keep calling until Sarah answered. She always seemed to know when Sarah was home. She always seemed to know a lot of things.

"Sarah! Dear!" Nan cried cheerily, "Now, how is everything going for my only grandchild?"

"Fine, Nan." Sarah noticed the bottle of aspirin on the kitchen counter and, holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder, wrestled with the cap. Her headache was becoming an urgent matter.

"Now, now, girl, don't lie to me." Nan's voice dropped it's usual breeziness as she chided, "I know you are not doing 'fine', that's why I called."

Sarah sighed again, "Tarot cards or premonition?"

"Both. I had a feeling that something was happening with you, so I laid out the cards," Nan answered with a practical air, as if reading Tarot cards were a run-of-the-mill pastime for modern grandmothers.

Sarah had long ago stopped being surprised by her maternal grandmother's eccentricities. She had also stopped being surprised by the unfailing veracity of her predictions. Nan had known about Sarah's mother's cancer—known before any of the telltale signs had manifested. That had been a dark period in their lives, as none of them had reacted well to the prognosis. Linda's response to her terminal diagnosis was to fill her calendar with more work and social events than ever—trying to pack all the life she would be missing into what little time she had left—with the unfortunate result of leaving little time for those who loved her. Sarah, just sixteen and awash with worry, made increasingly frantic attempts to spend time with her, even going so far as to run away to New York. It had lasted only a week, before she returned home, hurt that Linda was too busy rushing from rehearsal to cocktail party. Nan, racked with premature grief at the loss of her only child, had withdrew from life for a time. When Linda finally slowed down enough to realize what was happening, she put her foot down and insisted Nan 'get it together'.

"I'm the one who's dying, Mother," Linda had said, "You don't have the luxury of doing it first, so get out of bed and join a bridge club or quilting circle or whatever the hell women your age do!" That insult had the necessary result as it got Nan going again, with an indignant 'quilting circle, my ass'. It was a nearly sacred tradition that the women of their family not lead an ordinary life. Linda had her career in the theater, Nan had her hobbies of divination and supernatural exploration, and Nan's mother had been a tightrope performer in the big top circuit during the Great Depression. It had been plainly stated to Sarah, on more than one occasion, that she was expected to 'lead an exceptional life' in one way or another. Starving author of imaginative fantasy was not quite up to par with Nan's expectations, though if she'd been published, it might have been.

Sarah sighed yet again and, pouring herself a glass of water, said, "And let me guess: the cards said I need to get more sleep." She took two pills and downed the entire glass while her grandmother explained irritably that such mundane matters weren't worthy of divination.

"So, what did they say?"

"You must go with him." The tone Nan used sent a shiver down Sarah's spine and she suddenly was paying serious attention.

"Go with him? Toby?"

"Your half-brother?" Nan asked confusedly, and Sarah could all but see Nan shaking her head impatiently, "No, no, no." There was a pause as Nan consulted the cards before her and then said, more to herself than Sarah, "But, yes, that makes sense now. I see that he's involved. I wasn't sure what this Page of Wands meant, but now I see. Oh, yes." Then added brusquely, "But no. I didn't mean Toby." Sarah felt the blood rushing through her ears as she waited for Nan's explanation, because she had a feeling what the answer would be and didn't like it. "The mysterious one. The one offering help." Sarah gave a small groan and sat down on the floor with her back against the wall.

"He's someone you've known for a long time. And you once considered him your adversary."

"Once?" Sarah muttered sardonically.

"He'll come back into your life and bring great change."

"Yeah, I'll bet he will," she muttered acerbically again, which Nan continued to ignore.

"He'll be the love of your life." At this unexpected proclamation, Sarah gave a great snort of laughter (though, within her, an ember of feeling flared briefly in agreement) before responding bitterly.

"You'd better check the cards again, Nan, because that's not possible." But Nan held firm to her conviction.

"Sarah, child, there is no doubt about that. He may be powerful and full of ego, but he is destined to be yours. And you, his." Sarah let out an indignant scoff and buried her face in her arm.

"Nan, I have to go. I have a headache and need a bath and I really don't want to be having this conversation with you right now."

"Remember, Sarah," Nan said in a singsong voice, "You're destined to have an exceptional life. Exceptional. And he'll bring that about."

You have no idea, Sarah thought. As graciously as she could manage, she said her goodbyes, then made a beeline for the bathtub.

It was in the bath that Sarah determined to write Toby a letter. One that explained everything that had happened that night that she'd wished him away. In writing Sarah could be sure to word everything correctly, so there was no room for misunderstanding, and could impress upon him how she had immediately regretted her mistake. And most importantly, she could explain why the Goblin King was so dangerous. It was so obviously a good idea, she couldn't believe she'd never thought of it before.

She got out of the bath quickly and, pausing just long enough to put on a robe and check all the curtains were tightly drawn against prying avian eyes, sat down to write it all out. After several rough drafts and some editing, she sat back and looked with satisfaction at the finished product. She'd give it to him as soon as possible—the day after tomorrow. While it felt laughable to have something as mundane as work to concern yourself with when your brother was being pursued by a Goblin King, life did go on. Tomorrow would be a long day with an author coming to give a presentation and book signing ending late at night.

Before leaving her parents' house that night, Sarah had confirmed Karen would be picking Toby up from school and would be home all evening, so she felt safe missing a day of guarding him. Her dad had mildly chided them for codling Toby—"He's old enough to ride the bus; he was riding it a month ago"—but Karen had no objections to Sarah's sudden bout of protectiveness. She still assumed Sarah knew something about Toby's life that he wasn't comfortable telling her—which, technically, was true, though in quite a different way than she imagined—and went along with the new routine with only occasional prodding for information. She'd tried again that night as she walked Sarah to the door, wondering aloud if Toby had fallen in with the wrong sort of kids (she hadn't missed their reaction to her comment about the stolen Beetles), but Sarah had insisted they had nothing to worry about in that department. She'd even relayed a bit about meeting Becca, knowing it would probably cause Toby some consternation, but it successfully sidetracked Karen.

So, even though Sarah was still worried about Toby and hurt by their fight, she felt as though she'd solved the biggest problem—how to tell him the secret she'd kept for twelve years—and finally collapsed into bed where she finally slept for 5 hours, uninterrupted by dreams ...her grandmother's divination nearly forgotten.

* * *

He'd almost forgotten how awful the after school bus smelled. First thing in the morning, it smelled like vinyl seats and the driver's Juicy Fruit gum, but by the end of the day such aromas were overpowered by the odors left by the hormonal high schoolers who had occupied the bus immediately before the middle schoolers—unwashed gym clothes, inconsistently applied deodorant and over compensating perfume were the scents that assailed the nostrils at 3:35pm on bus 12.

Having been ferried home for several weeks by either Sarah or his Mom, Toby had avoided both the stench and the company of Jeremy Wilson and his goonish friends. He did ride with them on the way to school, but Jeremy was an altogether different person at 7:30 in the morning—still half asleep and more interested in his box of Poptarts than stirring up a scene. After school, it was as if all the damage he'd done to younger peers' egos during the all-too-brief passing times had whetted his appetite for some real cruelty.

Jeremy always waited until the last possible moment to board the bus. This gave him the opportunity to use profanity and make vulgar observations with his friends out of earshot of adults, in a kind of 'psych up' for the tormenting that was about to begin. It also meant that by the time he climbed on the bus, all potential victims were seated and ready for perusal. He'd saunter down the aisle, tossing his blonde hair and leering offensively at every pretty girl. With an upward swipe, he'd knock a cap off a sixth grader's head. With a kick, he'd bruise a lanky eighth grader who dared to rest an ankle halfway into the aisle. By the time he reached the back of the bus, he'd taken a candy bar from a new student (who, unfortunately, didn't yet know the unspoken rule to never get anything out of your backpack until after Jeremy was seated) and humiliated, in one way or another, half the population of the bus. No one ever dreamed of sitting in the last two rows; it was tacitly agreed by all (even the bus driver) that crushing in three to a seat was preferable to facing the wrath of Jeremy's group. The bus driver, the only one willing to drive this route thanks to Jeremy, was a burned out army veteran who seemed to view the abuse Jeremy heaped on the others in much the way he viewed his time in 'Nam: It sucked. It wasn't right. But the experience built character, goddammit, and these kids needed to grow a pair. Better now than in the real world. Occasionally, he stepped in and had even gone so far as to kick Jeremy off the bus mid route one day—oh the secret glee that had passed through the oppressed riders on that day!—but generally he kept his eyes on the road and turned his hearing aid down.

Such was the situation on bus 12 and the only reason Toby hadn't protested his sister and mother's protective chauffeuring. But he'd been called to the office during 8th period to receive a note: something came up at home and he would have to ride the bus today. As Jeremy climbed aboard, Toby gave a silent plea that he remain unnoticed. And it worked. Jeremy's eyes seemed to gloss right over the spot that he was seated at and he zeroed in on the boy behind him—a very freckled, very red haired, very awkward seventh grader who had yesterday been given the double insult of new braces and glasses.

"Hey look, Hickey-butt's got a new pair of glasses! Let me try them on, Hickey-butt," and the unfortunately nicknamed Samuel Heckenbach promptly had his spectacles removed. "Damn, Hickey-butt, your eyes must be fucked up! I can't see a thing with these." They were dropped to the floor where Samuel managed to rescue them from being crushed by Jeremy's heavy foot. "Too bad about those braces, Hickey-butt, now no chick'll want to kiss you—" he paused, sudden inspiration striking him. "Now the only hickeys you'll be getting will be on your butt." The vulgar comment didn't really make sense, but was mortifying to it's target nonetheless. He sank further into his seat and looked at the back of the seat in front of him, knowing that no one around him would risk speaking up on his behalf. Jeremy, extremely pleased with his joke and egged on by the laughter of his friends, turned to the meek girl across the aisle from Samuel and said, "What do you think? You wouldn't want to kiss Hickey-butt's face, would you? You'd rather kiss his butt than his face, wouldn't you?" The horror of such a suggestion rippled out through the nearby passengers in small waves of nausea and the poor girl's eyes filled with tears. Toby, who had a moment earlier felt nothing but utter relief that Jeremy had found a victim other than himself, now felt nothing but hatred and righteous indignation. His stomach churning and ears burning with outrage, he began to rise out of his seat to face the bully, but was stopped by a loud yell from the bus driver.

"Wilson!" By which he meant Jeremy. "Get your butt in your seat or you'll be walking home."

Jeremy, flipping the driver off, sauntered off to his dias in the back, surrounded by his sycophantic companions. The rest of the bus ride went by in relative peace, as there was a contingent of burly pubescent football players who always claimed the seats in front of Jeremy's and acted as a buffer of sorts for the other passengers. But by the time they had reached Toby's stop—which was Jeremy's stop as well—Jeremy had built up a measure of sadism and once the bus pulled away, he let it loose.

"Hickey-butt! You get a hickey on the way home?" Toby, in an effort to avoid drawing Jeremy's attention, had hung back on the pretense of finding something in his bag. As a result, Jeremy and a friend had passed Toby by unnoticed and had seen Samuel ahead of them, hurrying from the bus stop as quickly as was possible without running outright. Jeremy's friend snickered maliciously at Jeremy's joke and suggested maybe they should check for themselves.

"Yeah," Jeremy exclaimed, "Maybe we should check for a hickey!" The two bullies picked up their pace and, not being burdened with school bags of their own as they never did homework, rapidly gained on the boy now casting frightened glances over his shoulder. The scattered handful of students, too afraid to come to Samuel's defense, watched in frozen horror what seemed would be an inevitable pantsing.

Toby watched it all unfolding with revulsion. He had a keen sense of justice and, while he wasn't especially close to Samuel, he knew the boy didn't deserve such treatment. Jeremy is a bully and an asshole and deserved to be wiped off the face of the earth. The thought crossed Toby's mind before he was even aware of it. Suddenly, there was a smattering of high pitched and husky laughter all around him. A wave of terror flowed over Toby as he recognised the sound. No! That wasn't even a wish! His terror grew as he noticed other kids in his vicinity look briefly around them, searching for the source of the noise, before turning back to the struggle. No, NO, NO!

Jeremy had caught up to Samuel and was trying to pin him against the side of a building. "Hold him," he ordered his accomplice and Samuel started struggling in earnest, throwing wild punches and kicks. "Ow— Shit!" Jeremy exclaimed as one of Samuel's kicks made contact with his thigh. Dropping his voice dangerously, "You're gonna pay for that Heckenbach."

Samuel's struggling grew even more frantic, as the threat now was not merely public humiliation, but also bodily harm. It took both assailants all their attention to pin him against the wall and avoid his whirling limbs. Toby, out of the corner of his eye, noticed a delivery truck parked across the street begin to roll forward and realized with a start that there was no driver behind the wheel. It rolled past Toby and the other students, slowly picking up speed down the sloping street towards the scuffling trio. Toby, dread building in him, broke into a jog parallel with it, dodging other kids as he went. It picked up more speed than seemed possible for the minimal grade, and pulled away from Toby. Then it jumped the curb.

"Look out!" Toby screamed, now running full tilt. The truck veered across the sidewalk towards the scuffling boys. Looking up at the sound of Toby's scream, Jeremy's friend and Samuel were able to throw themselves out of the way in time. Jeremy, turning a half-second later, only had time to move a little before the front corner of the truck collided with him and came to a crunching halt as it crashed at an angle into the building the boys had been pressed against.

No no no! Toby screamed in thought as the sound of shattering glass and screeching metal filled the air. He was now leaping over Samuel's abandoned backpack and running towards the vehicle—noting with panic the limp form of Jeremy pinned between the vehicle and the building. Please let him be alive! Please let him be alive! He thought frantically over and over.

Vaulting over Jeremy's friend and Samuel—both now craning their necks to look at the carnage behind them—Toby reached the vehicle and saw with relief that Jeremy was only partially pinned. He'd had enough time to move mostly out of the way, only his arm and shoulder were trapped between the metal and brick. But blood was blossoming through the shoulder of his shirt and he appeared to be unconscious, head lolling limply like a doll. Toby began futilely to push at the truck, trying to get Jeremy loose. Realizing he could never do it alone, Toby spun around to call for help.

All the students standing at various distances away—transfixed where they'd been when the catastrophe began—stared dumbly at Toby. "Help me push it off him!" Jeremy's friend, spurred to action by Toby's order, scrambled to his feet and began to push as well. Samuel joined them, less eagerly, and another few students moved to help them. Together, they managed to budge the vehicle back a few inches, just far enough for the unconscious Jeremy to slide away and down to the sidewalk with a thump that made Toby sick. The vehicle rolled back with another crunch into the wall and everyone stepped back and stared at Jeremy.

"Jeremy." His friend was gingerly prodding him. "Hey Jeremy, man, wake up." Toby thought he would throw up and backed away toward the street, preparing to vomit into the gutter, watching desperately for a confirmation that Jeremy was alive. The confirmation came in Jeremy's weakly voiced curse.

"Whaa… the fuuu—" Jeremy interrupted himself with a shrieked of agony as he tried to move. And then, Toby did throw up, turning just in time to avoid spewing all over the others.

"What the hell is going on here," came a deep exclamation from the doorway of the building, just as another voice shouted from across the street, "My truck!" Adults, having missed the entire event, were now coming out of the woodwork and took over managing the situation. An ambulance was called and quickly arrived, the paramedic announcing loudly enough for the circle of kids crowded around to hear, "This kid's shoulder is probably busted—his arm definitely is—but it looks like there's no internal injuries." Jeremy, apparently not as tough as he would have everyone believe, had fainted again when moved to the stretcher and was being loaded into the ambulance. Toby, who had been hovering guiltily apart from the others, walked dazedly away in the direction of home. He overheard someone behind him saying his name.

"That's Toby, there. He got to him first and started pushing the truck off him. We all just froze, but he knew just what to do…" Toby didn't turn around to receive any recognition. All he felt was a hollow sense—a guilt that was eating away at him. He picked up his pace until he was jogging, then running. By the end of the block, he was running faster than he'd ever run, trying desperately to outrun that terrible feeling in his chest.

* * *

A/N: Full disclosure: everything I know about Tarot cards was gleaned from Wikipedia. If I used the wrong terminology or messed it up somehow, let me know how I can fix it. I am, unfortunately, something of an expert on middle school bullies and miserable bus rides.


	8. Chapter 8

Toby rushed into his room as soon as he got home and collapsed on his bed with a dry sob. For the first time since all this had started, Toby was actually afraid. Afraid of his newfound gift and its potential for harm.

Rubbing his face, as if it would clear the confusion from his mind, he went through the moments leading up to Jeremy's nearly fatal accident. Had he really wished for Jeremy to be killed? The answer was uncomfortable to accept. And while he hated Jeremy, and righteously so, Toby was horrified by what had happened. Like most kids, he had daydreamed about discovering he had special powers. Murdering the local bully was not how he had imagined using them.

When his mother called up the stairs, asking if he wanted a snack, he shouted 'No' and put on his headphones, turning the cd-player as loud as it went, drowning out any further attempts at communication. After an hour of ruminating, he still was no closer to understanding what was happening to him. He had more questions than answers and no one to ask.

A knock interrupted his thinking and his dad poked his head around the door. Shouting to be heard over the music, he said, "Your mother and I are heading out for the evening now. We plan to be back around midnight." Toby was a little surprised they were actually leaving him home alone. He hadn't been alone in the house, anywhere for that matter, for weeks. While it hadn't really bothered him before, he was relieved it was happening. He could use the time alone to think.

"There's leftover lasagna in the fridge and your mother left a message for Sarah, so don't be surprised if she shows up after the bookshop closes. You might want to save some lasagna for her."

Toby mumbled a reply and pretended to be enthralled with his sketchbook until his dad left. He gave the same performance to his mom when she said goodbye. He turned down the music, ears ringing in relief, and stood at the window to watch as they drove off. With no one in the house to witness, he let out a whimper and sat on the edge of his bed, giving into his pent up tears. The more he wept, the stormier his grief grew and he was almost embarrassed by his wracking sobs. The hollow ache of guilt in his chest gradually filled with tears until at last he was spent.

Exhausted, he fell back onto the bed with a flop, bumping the nightstand and knocking a stack of books to the floor. Groaning in irritation, he rolled over to pick them up—as leaving them scattered on the carpet would mean badly creased pages in his collector's editions—and his groan turned into a noise of surprise. Laying among the scattered comic books and graphic novels was a slim red book that he would recognise anywhere. The Labyrinth.

How it got there, he couldn't imagine. He'd been looking for a copy for years—thinking about it just yesterday—and now here it was. For all appearances, it had been on his nightstand for a while before destroying the stack had revealed it. Stretching an eager hand, he plucked it from the pile and started flipping through the pages. The other books and their pristine conditions were forgotten as he settled down on his bed to read. For the next hour and a half, he poured over the worn pages—his troubles forgotten.

* * *

Sarah tossed her keys onto the tray by her door and began rummaging through the fridge dully, not entirely satisfied with any of her dinner options. It had been a late night at the bookshop—the guest author had gathered such a big crowd (and consequently a long meet and greet line) that they'd been forced to stay open an hour later than normal. Now she was starving. She also had a throbbing headache, though from hunger or the deficit of sleep she'd been running on, she couldn't say. In any case, cooking was out of the question. Maybe take out?

She reached for the phone and saw the voicemail light blinking. Pushing the play button, a movement outside the window drew her attention. The owl. He sat on the windowsill, peering intently through the glass and she frowned at him. Tonight she would not be letting him in.

"Hi Sarah," her stepmother's ecstatic voice filled the kitchen, "I am just so excited! Your father and I have tickets to that benefit auction I've been trying to get in on for years. It's happening tonight and it's all so last minute. I know we talked about Toby not staying home alone, but there wasn't anyone who could come last minute like this. I know you had that event at the shop tonight and Cheryl is out of town. I thought about asking…" Karen's voice prattled on and Sarah, who had been flipping through her collection of take out menus, slowly began to understand where her stepmother was going with this and her hands stilled.

A feeling of cold began to seep down her spine and her heart began beating faster. "... We'll be leaving at seven and be home by midnight. Or maybe one," Karen gave a little giggle, "depending on how well we do in the bidding." A quick look at the clock showed Toby'd been alone for more than two hours.

Karen, so excited she was repeating herself, continued on. "You know how much I've wanted to attend this event, but could never manage to get in. Then two tickets show up in our mail this afternoon! I told Christopher we just couldn't miss this opportunity. If you don't mind dropping by to check on Toby later this night, that'd be wonderful."

With a look out the window, she saw that the owl was no longer there. Of course not. Sarah knew who was responsible for those tickets. He'd managed to find the one event that would tempt Karen to leave Toby alone for the evening. Karen's message went on, but Sarah was already grabbing her keys and purse—and the letter—and was out the door before the message finished. As she rushed down the steps, dread grew in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was about to happen was going to change everything.

* * *

Toby's stomach finally was able to tear his attention from reading. He was starving. Carrying the book with him, he made his way towards the kitchen. Now that he wasn't distracted by reading, a gloom settled over him again and as he shuffled down the stairs, he once again found himself brooding over his situation. A picture of Sarah, which he normally passed without a second thought, caught his eye.

She had been right.

This was exactly what she'd warned him about—hurting someone with a subconscious wish. But while she'd been right about this, she didn't understand exactly what was happening any better than he did. And that warning about the Goblin King coming with promises of help but intending to take him away… it was particularly ludicrous.

Having spent the last few hours looking back over the book again, he'd felt even more convinced that the King wasn't a villain. Not really. Reading between the lines, Toby saw that he was simply doing his job the best he could and was irritated by the vacillating, petulant nature of the heroine. If the Goblin King, or anyone for that matter, could give him answers, Toby would welcome him gratefully.. "Because," he said with a wistful sigh, "I wish someone—anyone—could explain what's happening to me."

He froze in the doorway to the kitchen. There it was again, that sound. He snatched the headphones off his ears and thumbed the pause button. Tiny voices tittered and cackled for such a brief second, it stopped before he could silence his music. Looking around, he couldn't see anyone. Then, there came a sound at the front door—a few thumps and a scratching and flapping.

Immediately, he regretted his wish.

Maybe he shouldn't open the door. Who knew what was standing on the other side of it? But then he felt foolish. A thirteen year old shouldn't be afraid to open a door, he told himself angrily. Sarah and his mom treated him like a baby and, between the uncontrolled blubbering earlier and this irrational fear, now he was starting to act like one.

He stout-heartedly stalked to the door and flung it open.

Nothing was there.

After a few seconds of staring out into the dark night, watching the wind blow through the trees and a lone car drive by, he shook his head in irritation at himself. What did you expect, Toby? A goblin? Turning back toward the kitchen, he pushed the door behind him. Normally, the heavy door would have swung closed silently, latching easily. But this time, the latch didn't give the telltale click.

Toby realized, when he heard the floor boards behind him creak, that he wasn't alone.

"Hello, Toby."

It was the voice, the one from his dreams, and for a split second Toby's heart froze in his chest.

He slowly turned and found himself facing the most peculiar man he'd ever seen. With uncomfortably tight pants and a coat with lapels that reared up like horns, Toby briefly wondered if the man tilted his head down to look at floor, would he gouge his eye out on his coat? But it was the glam rock makeup and absurd hair that put it over the top. He looks like a member of some crazy 80's hair band. Toby's expression must have betrayed his thoughts, because the man's eyes flashed angrily and the air around them grew cold. Menace rolled off him like a chilling fog and suddenly the dramatic getup seemed less ridiculous and more intimidating. He followed the man's eyes as they dropped briefly to the book in Toby's hand. There was only one thing this man could be.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King."

The man's menacing expression disappeared as suddenly as it had come, replaced with a smile that Toby wasn't entirely sure was an improvement. The king tilted his head slightly, acknowledging his title and waiting for him to go on.

"I didn't think you were real."

"Oh, I assure you, Toby, I am quite real." Upon hearing the Goblin King use his name, Toby's jaw dropped open slightly in surprise.

"How do you know who I am?" This brought a wicked grin to the King's face.

"I've known you for most of your young life." The man walked a few paces to the side to pick up a framed photo of Toby and his sister, looking at it nonchalantly. "You were quite the lively little chap. I've been pleased to see that you haven't lost that quality, so many babies grow up to be exceedingly boring individuals." He paused thoughtfully as if reconsidering his words, then placed the frame back on the shelf. "But then, most babies aren't particularly engaging to begin with. Noisy. Leaking. Incapable of stringing together more than a few syllables," his eyebrows shot up in a look of ironic realization, "Not entirely unlike my subjects. Perhaps I should consider a new source material." He silently dwelt for a moment on this minor revelation, until Toby shifted his feet uncomfortably, catching his attention. "But that is irrelevant to our purpose here." He regally waved his hand as if sweeping all other considerations away. "You, Toby, are quite special. But you already know this, don't you?" He tilted his head questioningly, but the confidence in his eyes made it clear he knew the answer. "Things happen when you wish for them, don't they?"

"How- how do you know about that?" Toby stuttered in his bewilderment.

The Goblin King looked proudly down at Toby, "That is not a common ability in your world. It is a power not of your realm. You harness magic—magic from my realm. I could sense it and I came to see what mortal could be so powerful. I was a little surprised it was you, but I shouldn't have been. I knew you were special from the beginning."

Toby felt a strange stirring in his chest, a kind of pride mixed with uncertainty. He had often felt that to be true, that he was special, but had always dismissed it, because, well, doesn't everyone believe themselves to be special? His dad frequently complained that their generation was coddled, the 'participation trophy syndrome' he called it. At Toby's school, 'high self-esteem' was diligently cultivated, so of course everyone thought they were special. Hearing this praise from a magically gifted monarch from another reality, on the other hand, went a long way to convince him that maybe it wasn't just in his head. All the questions that had been clamoring through his mind for the past two weeks suddenly rushed to be spoken.

"Why is this happening? And why is it happening to me? How can I control it? Can you teach me how to control it?" The King tossed his head back and laughed heartily, amused by the flood of questions.

"Of course. It is my magic you've been harnessing ...in a rather undisciplined fashion, albeit. What you need, Toby, is a bit of guidance. And that," he splayed out his arms with a regal flourish, "is why I'm here."

At that moment, the front door flew open, slamming hard into the wall, and Toby was relieved as Sarah flew in through the doorway, calling his name. His name died on her lips, however, and she froze, rooted in place at the sight of the Goblin King standing in their foyer.

Seeing this, Toby felt a rush of relief. If she can see Him, then I'm not going crazy. He then noted with surprize that the color had drained from her face and fear, real fear, flickered briefly in her eyes. Seeing her reaction, he felt a shiver run the length of his spine. The Goblin King hadn't turned his attention from him, his only reaction to Sarah's arrival appeared to be a satisfied smile. He looks like a cat that's cornered it's prey, Toby thought warily.

"Ah, Sarah," the Goblin King said pleasantly, still not taking his eyes off Toby, "So glad you could join us. Toby and I have been becoming reacquainted."

"You get away from my brother." Toby had never heard her sound so menacing. Sarah stalked forward, looking more intimidating than he could have imagined. The fear was gone and she looked ready to rip the King limb from limb. He ignored her command, continuing in an amiable tone.

"I was just explaining to young Toby that what has been befalling him is not a mystery."

"Get out of our house."

"Your house?" The King said silkily, "I was under the impression that you now had your own place of residence across town. With a particularly hideous couch. This is Toby's house and I am his guest."

"I told you to stay away from him, Jareth." Toby's realization was like a cold splash in his face, Sarah knew this man. Knew his name. And he'd seen her apartment—Toby didn't miss the insult to her favorite piece of furniture, which truly was hideous.

Apparently, Sarah's statement was significant to the King too, as he turned to face her with a grin that turned sultry. "I do so love it when you say my name, Sarah." The Goblin King—Jareth—practically purred.

"Wait. You actually know him?" Toby asked incredulously.

"Get. Out. Of. This. House. Now." Sarah enunciated every word fiercely, ignoring her brother's question.

"Such hostility," Jareth replied silkily. "You might want to reconsider that attitude; it's rather unbecoming."

"I don't care if you find me unbecoming," her voice dripped with scorn, but Toby noticed that her cheeks were burning as the King regarded her with a knowing smirk.

"Sarah," Toby tried to interrupt their tense back and forth, "How do you know him?" He was started to grow irritated. They aren't even paying attention to me.

Still ignoring her brother, she narrowed her eyes and hissed, "You'll leave this house and never come back. And you will never talk to my brother again."

"You almost sound as if you're threatening me. And that would be foolish. You're no match for me," Jareth's voice was still silky, but he had dropped his veneer of amiability and was returning Sarah's glare.

"As I recall, I was quite the match for you."

"Don't antagonize me, Sarah," he said darkly, "I've been generous, up until now." Sarah let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh yes, that's right. Your generosity. Certainly one of your finest qualities."

"And one that you continue to benefit from, given the appalling lack of respect you repeatedly show me. No denizen of my realm would dare—"

"But I am not a denizen of your realm, Jareth," she interrupted him mercilessly, "Neither of us are," she gestured toward Toby, "and we never will be." Then, lifting her chin defiantly, she said loudly, "You have no power over us."

At this point, Toby was angry. The two of them were bantering back and forth, completely oblivious of his existence. The Goblin King was so infuriated by what she said, the air around them felt electric. He had been so close to getting answers, real answers, about what was happening to him. And now he was forgotten. His sister was about to chase away the one person who could answer these questions. Frustration boiling up inside him, he let a shout burst out of him. "Hey!" Sarah's attention snapped to him.

"How do you know him?"

"Why Sarah," Jareth exclaimed with false surprise, "You haven't told him about our little adventure? Quite unfair, given he played a pivotal role in the whole event."

She looked uncomfortably at her brother, as if she was embarrassed to say or didn't know where to begin, thne looked at an envelope she held in her hand. Holding it out to him, she took a breath and was about to speak when she noticed the small red book in Toby's hand.

"Toby," her voice was dangerously quiet, "where did you get that book?" The envelope and the letter it contained were forgotten.

He looked down at it, almost surprised to find it still in his grasp. "I... I just found it."

"Give it to me," she held out her hand. Jareth, who had been watching them with amusement and leaning against the foyer's console table, now sprang up, spurred to action as Toby's hand moved toward her hesitatingly.

"Oh, come now, Sarah. Taking your brother's things from him? If I recall correctly, that's the very thing you were so furious about the night we met. A beloved stuffed animal, wasn't it? A bear? You were quite upset at your baby brother then. You'll take from him like he took from you, thirteen years ago?"

Toby looked between them, confused, and said, "Lancelot...? Thirteen years ago? What is he talking about Sarah?"

"Don't listen to him. Just give me the book."

"Why do you want it?" Toby pulled it to himself defensively. He couldn't say why, but it suddenly seemed incredibly important that he not let it out of his grasp.

"You shouldn't read it."

Jareth spoke up, "And why shouldn't he? It's just a book. Granted the author gets nearly everything wrong about my world and spends entirely too much time with the villain, barely follows the hero at all." He leaned towards Toby and said conspiratorially, "That villain is such a cheeky little brat. She's really quite exhausting." The Goblin King was really enjoying himself—Toby could easily see that everytime Jareth spoke, his sister grew more flustered and angry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he should be paying more attention to why Sarah was so unsettled by the King and why this seemed to please the King so much, but he was too angry to listen to quiet voices in the back of his mind just now.

"Why shouldn't I read it?"

"Because, Toby," she said with an air of exasperation that made Toby even more angry, "there are some books that just shouldn't be read."

"If you think it's so bad, why do you have a copy?"

"Oh, he's got you there, Sarah my dear." She shot Jareth a look, but turned back to her brother.

She tried to change tactic, "Toby, it's a dangerous book. It… it causes a lot of trouble."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" Toby exclaimed indignantly.

"Please, just trust me. You shouldn't read that book."

"Well I already have." He jutted his chin out defiantly. Jareth, looking at him, laughed out loud.

"That look! Oh, there's certainly a family resemblance between you two." Sarah flicked a glare at him, then looked imploringly at her brother.

"If you've read it, then you know who this is," she gestured at the King, "and how dangerous he is."

"Dangerous? Would I call myself dangerous?" Jareth tapped his chin thoughtfully, seeming to consider it seriously. He shrugged, "Probably." Neither of the siblings paid him attention. He began circling the two of them slowly, eyes glinting with pleasure.

"But he knows what's happening to me. He says he can help me—"

"He," Sarah interrupted sharply, "will not help you."

Jareth had circled behind Toby and leaned in to say softly, "Not if your sister sends me away."

"He can't help me if you kick him out!" Toby shouted and Sarah raised her voice back.

"You can't trust him!"

"How would you know?!"

"Yes," Jareth purred over Toby's shoulder, "How would she know?"

Toby's eyes narrowed and he said quietly, "How do you know him?" Sarah looked between the two of them, her eyes betraying slight panic. Jareth, grinning at her over Toby's shoulder, purred again.

"Yes, how do you know me, Sarah?"

She tried to avoid it again by saying earnestly, "I'm just trying to keep you safe, Toby, to protect you."

"I don't need your protection!" Toby felt he was going to explode. "I don't need you to keep me safe! I need answers!"

"But, Toby-"

Toby had heard enough and interrupted her, shouting, "No! You're just like Mom! Trying to control me, to manage every little thing I do! But I'm not a kid anymore! You can't just tell me what to do and what to think!"

Though visibly shaken by his verbal attack, Sarah tried again to speak, but he wouldn't let her. "No! I don't want to listen to you! I don't want to see you! Just go!"

She looked silently at her little brother with a wounded expression, but made no motion to leave. Jareth, meanwhile, had circled behind her and caught Toby's eye.

"But if she leaves now, you'll never know what happened thirteen years ago, Toby. Don't you want to learn the truth? Learn why you can do the things you can do?"

Toby's eyes narrowed again as a new realization dawned on him. Sarah knew. She knew, but she wouldn't tell, the expression on her face made him certain of that. Why wouldn't she want me to know? What could have happened— Then, suddenly it all clicked into place and he looked down at the book in his hand.

"Wait… you…" Toby's expression grew increasingly dark, "You gave me away? You sent me to him when I was a baby?"

Tears began to roll down her face. "I didn't mean to—" She held the envelope out to him again, but he ignored it.

"Now, how could you send someone away without meaning to?" Jareth said from behind Sarah. Toby's blood was humming loudly in his ears; he was so shocked, he couldn't speak.

Sarah continued, "It was a mistake. If it hadn't been for that book—"

"A book?" Jareth said dubiously behind Toby, "You're laying the blame on a book?"

Toby, seeing a way it could have been an accident, managed to say, "So you just read the words in the book out loud? That's how you sent me away?" As he said it, he saw on her face that he was wrong. It hadn't been an accident.

Jareth, meanwhile, had laughed again, "That line in the book is absurd. And ineffective. She couldn't have called on me with any line in that book. To call on me," he paused for emphasis, "one must make a wish."

"So, you did wish me away." Toby was furious. "You sent me away. To be turned into ...a goblin."

"No! I went after you!" She was flapping the envelope frantically between them.

"I was just a baby! How could you do that to me?" Sarah deflated at that.

"Because she was selfish," Jareth whispered to him, gleefully leering at Sarah, "She wanted to get rid of you. And she did. With just twelve little words."

"I'm so sorry."

"...Sorry she got caught. I'll wager she never intended to tell you the truth."

"I was going to tell you, but I couldn't find the right time," she offered the envelope once more, but when he didn't take it, she seemed to give up and dropped it to her side.

"'The right time'?" Jareth skeptically queried, "She had twelve years!" He stepped in between the siblings now, looking down at Toby with compassionate pity, "She knew what was happening to you, but said nothing."

"You knew."

"No," Sarah stuttered, "N-not for sure."

Jareth whispered, "She must have known."

"You didn't tell me. You didn't want me to know what was happening to me."

Jareth was behind Sarah now, saying condescendingly, "Now, Sarah, that is true."

"No. I just wanted to protect you."

"I don't need your protection!" Toby shouted again. He had never felt this angry before. The rage pulsed through his veins like fire, "I want you to go!" HIs vision was darkened, his head was pounding and he couldn't think straight. He knew he could recover if only she would go away.

The Goblin King then was between them again. Dark and low, he said, "You can get your wish," then he disappeared and reappeared behind him, "You have but to speak it."

"Jareth, don't!" Sarah was looking at the Goblin King with horror, realizing what he was trying to do.

Jareth's eyes were burning, boring into Sarah's as he prompted Toby, "I wish…"

"I wish…" Toby murmured impassively, as if hypnotized.

"No!" Sarah shouted, moving a step closer. Her motion seemed to awaken him and he finished the thought with a hateful glare.

"I wish the goblins would come and take you away."

Jareth's eyes gleamed wickedly as he grinned victoriously at Sarah. Leaning over Toby, he whispered, "When?" Sarah looked at Toby and reached out for him.

"Right now."

"Tob-" She didn't get a chance to finish calling his name. One moment she was standing before him, reaching out, and the next moment, she was gone.

* * *

A/N: Gah! A cliff hanger! What happens next?


	9. Chapter 9

"Toby!" By the time her brother's name left her lips, it was already too late. She was no longer in the entryway of the house.

This room was dark, vast and cold. She was somewhere in the Goblin King's castle.

"Damn it, Toby," She said angrily, though she knew he wasn't there to hear her. The flare of anger she felt at him faded quickly, as a voice in her head chided, _You did the same thing to him when he was nothing more than a baby. And you were older than he is now. Can you seriously be angry at him?_ Another voice insisted, _Yes. I definitely can._ Both voices were silenced by a third, more insightful inner voice with a single word, _Jareth._ Immediately, all three agreed. This was all Jareth's doing. Any anger she felt towards Toby directed itself at the Goblin King and grew threefold. She was going to make him pay. But, she realized with a shiver, perhaps she should take a quick account of her surroundings.

She was still dressed in her best work clothes, with her purse slung across her body, but the letter she'd been clinging to was gone. The floor beneath her was made of polished blocks of stone and the ceiling was so high, she could barely make it out in the darkness. She couldn't make out the walls at all, they were either too far away or too shrouded in darkness. A single candle burned weakly beside her and nearly gutted out when she lifted it. As she moved, her breath created wisps of frost that hung in the air briefly before the candle's meager warmth dispelled them. Shivering with cold and frayed nerves she moved forward, hoping to find a door.

When she had realized what was happening, how the King had been goading Toby, manipulating him to send her away, she had expected to appear on the hill at the edge of the Labyrinth. But, now she realised that was wrong. She wasn't the Labyrinth runner this time, she was the captive. Had she taken that into consideration, she'd probably have expected to arrive in his throne room. Or the impossible stairs room, where she'd found Toby. Wherever she was, it was neither of those places. At least it wasn't a cramped oubliette, she thought to herself as she shivered again and continued her exploration.

What she found made her angry enough to forget about the shivering: a very ornate and large bed, surrounded by what must be hundreds of unlit candles in candelabras that gleamed brightly in the dim light she held. Rich, black velvet covers laid over the bed, embroidered here and there with gold swirls and flashes that evoked the idea of magic. It was the sort of bed belonging to a king. She scoffed with disgust.

 _He magicked me into his bedroom!? That presuming, arrogant, infuriating…_

With a vicious gesture, Sarah tore the top cover off the bed, pleased when she knocked over several golden candelabras, and wrapped the velvet blanket around herself for warmth. Lighting the wicks in the least ostentatious candle holder she could find, she coaxed more light to pool around her and went on to explore the rest of the room.

 _There has to be a door here somewhere._

After an exhaustive search of the perimeter of this huge room (it really was more the size of a ballroom than a bedroom), she had discovered a sitting area by an unlit fireplace, a small dining table laden with mouthwatering food and drink, a corner containing a privacy screen hiding a bathtub and toiletry station, and another table with various implements and instruments she couldn't divine the purpose of (though she suspected they had something to do with magic or spell casting). She did _not_ find a door. Or a window. Apparently, it wasn't a room one entered through conventional means. Which meant she was trapped here until the King arrived. With an irritated huff, she returned to the sitting area and lit a fire in the fireplace with surprising ease.

Sitting on what was an incredibly comfortable couch before the warm fire, her thoughts drifted to Toby. He had been expertly manipulated by Jareth and surely he knew that by now. She was certain that he'd be starting the Labyrinth's maze soon, if he hadn't already by now, in an effort to claim her back. She knew Toby well enough to know his anger had dissipated the moment she disappeared. He would have been horrified and then frantic to do whatever it took to get her back. And, knowing that Jareth wanted Toby returned to the Underground, she had no doubt that the Goblin King had readily assented to Toby's request to challenge the Labyrinth.

With a groan of frustration, Sarah let her head drop into her hands. _Why didn't I tell him earlier? This could have all been avoided if I'd just told him everything before Jareth appeared._ She groaned yet again as a new thought came to her, _What happens to Toby if he doesn't beat the Labyrinth in 13 hours?_ Jareth had claimed to want him back before his thirteenth birthday, still ten days away. What if this was all a trap to hold Toby here, until… She wasn't sure what, but the not knowing left room for many possibilities—none of them good.

She squared her shoulders. _Well, then, we'll have to beat the Labyrinth before the 13 hour mark._ And to help Toby do that, she'd have to get out of here. Which meant the first step was to wait for Jareth. She knew it wouldn't be long, he certainly wouldn't be able to refrain from coming to gloat. And, given the location, he probably intended to revisit the theme of some dreams she'd had before.

* * *

One moment, Sarah was there. The next, she was gone.

Jareth had foregone dramatics, refraining from flashes of light and smoke and glitter. The sudden absence in itself was enough. One look at the boy was all it took to see it had had it's intended effect.

As Toby stared at the place Sarah had been, a wave of horror washed over him so powerfully that he physically stumbled back. Wild eyed and slack jawed, he looked up at him.

"Well done, Toby. You did it."

The boy's mind was racing. _Ah,_ Jareth thought, _this will be all too easy._ It would hardly take any prodding at all for him to take up the challenge.

"I wish the goblins would come and bring Sarah back right now!" Toby practically shouted. Jareth threw his head back and laughed in sincere surprise. In all his time, no one had ever thought to do that. It was actually quite clever. Ineffective, but clever. Undeterred, Toby tried again, "I wish for you to bring my sister back. Now."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Toby. A good try though, I'll grant you that."

"Where is she?"

 _Well, that's more like the usual script_ , Jareth thought, before saying, "You know very well where she is."

"Please, bring her back. I didn't mean it."

"Oh, you didn't? You know Sarah said the very same thing when I took you." He produced a crystal ball and leaned casually against the end table, rolling the ball from hand to hand.

The wheels were turning in Toby's head. Horror was draining from his face, replaced by a frantic sort of thinking. He looked down at the book in his hand and when he spoke, he voice was very quiet. "I have to run the Labyrinth, don't I? Reach the castle beyond the Goblin City?"

"If you ever hope to see Sarah again," Jareth nodded with a smile. Normally, he'd be trying to tempt Toby to stay home and forget about his sister, but he wanted Toby to be in his realm as much as he wanted Sarah there, so he waved his arm to the open door and his kingdom appeared outside. The sinuous path of the labyrinth, the dark pools of green forest, the glimmering ramparts of the village and his castle, they all glowed in the amber light of the Underground's pre-dawn. Jareth felt a small thrill of pride at how beautiful and wild and imposing it looked.

"That's the Labyrinth?" Toby stepped through the door without a moment's hesitation and Jareth's grin deepened. _Like taking candy from a baby._

"I should warn you, Toby, that you'll find that little book of yours is not entirely helpful. The mortals that do return from my realm tend to have…" Jareth searched for the right word, "... _unreliable_ memories. Some of the basics are accurate—dangers untold and such—but the specifics…" he waved a hand dismissively. "I wouldn't lean too heavily on it as a travel guide."

Toby was looking rather dumbfounded, gazing at the kingdom before him. Finally, he mustered a quiet, "I have had dreams about this place for as long as I can remember."

"Quite true." He was tempted to add that Toby belonged here and it was a mistake when Sarah had taken him away, but he refrained. _Best not show all one's cards._ Instead, he pointed to a ornate clock suspended in the air beside them. He considered dragging this beginning out, ensuring that Toby got as late a start as possible, but then he had spent years preparing for this moment and the Labyrinth itself would be more than enough of a challenge to the boy. Besides, he had someone in the castle waiting for him and he had put nearly as much time and consideration into preparing for _that_ moment. His lips curled into the smile of a predator at the thought of it.

"You have 13 hours in which to solve the Labyrinth, before your sister becomes one of us forever." _And she will. As will you,_ he thought triumphantly as he faded from Toby's view.

* * *

Toby watched the Goblin King fade from view and turned back to the Labyrinth. The sun was rising over the hills behind him, bathing the land in golden light. He had never imagined anything so beautiful. In different circumstances, he would have liked to stay and watch the changing light play across the twists and turns of the maze, and the leaves of the forest beyond. His fingers would have itched to sketch everything he saw. But he had a task. The shock was beginning to wear off him and the hollow ache of guilt was settling in-the ache which could only be cured by action. Standing around feeling miserable wouldn't help Sarah. He needed to get moving.

"Alright, feet. Let's do this."

As his feet carried him down the sandy hill, he felt himself being drawn not to the wall of the Labyrinth, but some place to the right. He tried to ignore it, making his way straight for the wall, but soon found there wasn't any readily apparent entrance. Wandering along the edge of the Labyrinth, he followed the pull to the right, searching for the entrance as he went.

He was almost upon it before he realized there was a small cottage built in the shadow of the Labyrinth's wall. Ramshackle and caked in dust and cobwebs, the little stone building was nearly indistinguishable from its surroundings. But a thin wisp of smoke curled up from the chimney and, though all the curtains were tightly drawn, Toby felt certain that there was someone inside. Someone who would help him.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter is quite short. There is more Sarah and Jareth coming up and it should be more meaty. But poor Jareth will be disappointed, as his well laid plans are going to go awry. And let's see if you can correctly guess who Toby is coming to visit (I'm sure it must be blatantly obvious).**

 **I've really enjoyed your comments! Thanks!**


	10. Chapter 10

Nineteen minutes

Sarah was no longer cold, now wrapped in Jareth's velvet bedspread beside a roaring fire, but her hunger and headache had returned with full force. Though the table with food and drink was some distance away in this vast room, delicious smells were wafting over and her stomach growled in response. She let her head fall back against the couch with a groan—there was no way she was eating _anything_ here. She'd read about eating food offered by the fae and knew better than to be tempted. Or at least, knew better than to _give in_ to temptation, because the delectable aromas reaching her definitely were tempting.

The only obvious sources of light were still her candles and the fire, both of which were burning dimly, so Sarah was surprised by the realization that the room was growing lighter. The room's corners were still shrouded in darkness, but the space around her was bright enough to see the vivid pattern on the couch. It was familiar. Very familiar. Because it was _her_ couch. She leapt to her feet, unsure whether this was meant as an insult or not, and that was when she saw him.

Jareth was standing in the shadows, across from her, his eyes boring into her with an intensity that would have alarmed her, had she not been so full of fury. Dressed in greys and whites with a feathered cloak that swirled and billowed around him, the Goblin King stepped forward into the light with deliberation. Though she couldn't put her finger on why, the entire effect of his entrance struck Sarah as familiar and, like the couch, it unsettled her. Feeling unsettled made her even more wrathful.

Dropping the makeshift cloak of his bed cover, she took several quick steps towards him. He smiled lustfully and said in a drawn out groan, "At last." He didn't seem to take in her savage anger until she was only a few paces away, then his expression changed into one of startled uncertainty.

"You arrogant, manipulative, scheming, conniving, machiavellian—" She'd had time, sitting on that couch, to come up with a list of adjectives for him and was ready to unleash them.

"Now, Sarah," Jareth, uncharacteristically disconcerted, backed up a step, then another and another, while Sarah continued mercilessly.

"—opportunistic, duplicitous—"

"There is no need—"

"—underhanded, treacherous—"

"Name calling really is—"

"—lying—"

"Now _that_ is not accurate."

"—son of a bitch."

" _That_ isn't even _**possible**_." With this, Jareth seemed to rally his dignity and stopped backing up. Sarah, having run out of breath, paused her advance just out of his reach and stood with fists clenched at her sides. If looks could kill, her gaze would've stricken Jareth dead where he stood. As it was, he was still alive, but very much caught off guard, which was an uncommon experience for him.

Sarah, not ignorant in the art of verbal warfare, noted his rattled state and, before he could regain himself, she pressed her attack by demanding, "Where is Toby?"

The Goblin King collected himself by straightening his shoulders and arranging his features into their usual arrogant condescension before answering, "In my Labyrinth, of course."

"You're making him challenge it," she said with a scowl, "To rescue me." He inclined his head in assent. Sarah stood a bit taller and commanded, "Take me to him."

He arched a slim eyebrow at her impertinence. Rather than reply, Jareth looked past her to the velvet cover pooled on the floor before the couch. He said drolly, "I see you found the bed."

Though not prone to violence, Sarah—exhausted, hungry and frustrated that he'd recovered from her verbal assault so quickly—wanted nothing more than to slap him. She was restrained by the certainty that he'd disappear before her hand could reach him. She settled for giving an indignant scoff.

Seeming to sense her violent thoughts, he drifted around her just beyond arm's reach. With a caress of his gloved fingertips along the back of the couch, he turned back to her and said with a slight smile, "I went to some lengths to make you feel at home." Pointedly ignoring both his statement and the exact replica of her couch, she repeated her demand.

"Take. Me. To. Toby." With each word she took a loud step towards him.

The only sign that he'd heard her command was a flicker of dark emotion that crossed his face and it was immediately replaced by amused tolerance. "It appears you haven't partaken of the food and drink I had laid out for you. Perhaps we should eat first and then talk?"

"I'm not _eating with you_ ," Sarah declared with outrage, "I'm not _talking_ with you. Or _anything_ else!" She gestured comprehensively toward the bed. "You _will_ take me to Toby."

If he was offended by her indignant refusal, he didn't let it show, but rather continued to gaze at her with a patronizing smirk and said lightly, as though he'd made an amusing discovery, "You are _quite_ willful." He turned to the fire, which flared brightly in response to a motion of his hand, and stood gazing into it.

Sarah, impatient with his evasion, murmured threateningly under her breath, "You have no idea." Louder she said, "I want you to—"

"—Take you to your brother," he interrupted in a bored tone. His back was to her, a striking figure against the firelight, only the edges of his cloak moving as they trembled in a faint air current. "You did mention that. Several times." He turned and leveled a stern look at her, all tolerance gone. "You seem to have a severe misunderstanding of the situation. As this is _not_ your dream and you are _not_ the challenger to my Labyrinth, I am _not_ obligated to abide by your expectations."

Sarah glared at him, unsure what to do given this information. If she couldn't command him, if her expectations had no sway over him, then what? What would be her line of attack? As her silence drew out and uncertainty weakened her glare, Jareth's mouth slowly curved into a smile. He elegantly settled onto the couch, draping his arm along the back and gazing at Sarah with an air of supreme confidence. All trace of his earlier discomfort and anger had vanished and Jareth was clearly once again feeling himself the master of the situation.

"Though its appearance assails the senses, this _is_ a remarkably comfortable piece of furniture. I see now why you appreciate it." He gestured to the space beside him invitingly, "You must be weary." Sarah only crossed her arms across her chest and frowned at him. "The allotted thirteen hours will pass quite slowly if spent standing." He shrugged elegantly at her stony refusal and mirrored her pose by crossing his arms comfortably across his chest. "I'd intended to pass the time with you more ...actively engaged, but the firelight dancing over your skin is rather captivating. I've no objection to spending the next thirteen hours in silent contemplation of it."

"I don't plan on being here for the next thirteen hours," Sarah growled. She turned partially away from him, the better to think. To get to Toby, she had to get out of the castle, and to do that she had to get out of this room. A room with no doors or windows. _A fireplace must have a chimney,_ she thought, looking at it consideringly. She was seriously debating with herself whether she would actually be able to shimmy up it, when a movement from Jareth caught her attention.

He leaned forward and said softly, earnestly, "Sarah, just for the moment, forget about your brother." Like his commanding entrance, this phrase caught at something just at the edge of Sarah's memory, with an unsettling effect. He said something like this twelve years ago, hadn't he? How could he possibly think she could?

"I can't just forget him," she spat, her brows drawn together with angry incredulity, "He's my little brother."

Jareth settled back with a disappointed sigh. "No. You have proven to be invariably focused when it comes to Toby. Perhaps it was not to be expected that you would…" he cast a glance toward the bed, "...entertain any other considerations." The look he settled on her next was somewhat regretful. "I had hoped a familiar object," he swept an arm to indicate her couch, "some of your favorite foods," here he waved vaguely in the direction of the delicious aromas, "might help you to acclimate."

His disappointment bothered Sarah. Some part of her, the absurdly romantic part that noted the elegance of his profile in the firelight and was drawn to the proud curve of his upper lip, felt a ripple of something like guilt for not meeting _his_ expectations. The rest of her, however, grew uproariously angry that she should feel anything toward Jareth but fury and hostility. It was the rage-filled majority that spoke when she declared, "I won't need to _acclimate_." Needing space to think clearly, she spun on her heel and stomped away, "I won't be here long."

"No... not long at all," he called after her. Then suddenly from immediately behind her, he added silkily, "Only forever."

The triumphant smirk in his voice and the sheer arrogance of his declaring victory within the first hour of the challenge was too much. Her simmering frustration boiled over and she whirled to strike him, her right fist aiming at his face. As quick as she was—and despite her inexperience with such aggression, she _was_ quick—Jareth was quicker.

He caught her fist and held it tightly, pulling it—and the rest of her—close to his chest. As she struggled to free herself, he tut-tutted, "Such a temper," and, after a moment watching her, released her.

Sarah stepped several paces back, shaking her hand as if to coax circulation back into her fingers, but really trying to shake off the tingling sensation of his touch. Her mind scrambled for some kind of loophole to the current situation.

"I'm not a child—"

"—Which I am excruciatingly aware of—"

"—so you can't hold me captive." She finished, ignoring his hungry look, and pointed out, "You take children, not adults."

"Minor detail." he waved a hand dismissively, "Compared to the lifespan of the Fae, even the most elder of your species is a child."

Sarah didn't have an immediate rebuttal and they stood in silence, the fire glimmering dimly behind him and giving an occasional crackle. Though his face was mostly in shadow, she could easily make out the fineness of his features. Jareth was also using this silence to study her, his gaze roving over her face as though he was committing it to memory. Her heart fluttered traitorously when his glance dropped to her lips repeatedly. After a long moment regarding each other, she spoke softly, in a tone that was just short of a request.

"I want to see him."

Jareth frowned, then smiled toothily and produced a crystal sphere from nowhere, rolling it along the fingers of one hand. The light from the fire caught in the crystal, so that it appeared to glow from inside. "That can certainly be arranged." He made to toss it to her, when Sarah's exclamation stopped him.

"No!" He looked at her with startled confusion and she explained with a scoff, "I'm not accepting anything from you. I know how _that_ works." Sarah had done her research years ago—she would not be accepting a gift, food or otherwise, from anyone in this world.

Jareth seemed to be genuinely confused by her refusal. "Clearly you don't," he said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dimwitted goblin, "It will show you your brother."

"I want to see him in person."

He drew the crystal back and looked coldly at her. "Not possible. He's meant to _earn_ your freedom back. He can't earn it if I bring you to him."

"But this challenge isn't fair," Sarah insisted, "He's just a kid—"

"He's not much younger than you were, when last you were here."

" _When last I was here_ , I _**was**_ just a kid."

He smirked, and gazed down at the crystal in his hand as if looking back in time. "Sarah," he chided condescendingly, looking up at her with a teasing expression, "You were old enough to _bear_ a child; you were _far_ from _being_ one."

"Well, I certainly wasn't an adult."

"You had every appearance of one." His gaze dropped down to slowly take her in, "Though you were not so ...voluptuous as you are now."

Sarah wasn't heedless of the compliment, egregiously salacious though it was. Her gaze unwittingly drew down to her clothes. Her dress certainly wasn't skimpy, being suitable for work at the bookshop, but it did expose more leg and hugged her curves more than she would have liked at this particular moment. It was, however, nowhere near as form fitting as those ridiculous pants he wore. She realised a moment too late that she was staring at his generous bulge and that he'd noted her gaze with triumph. She made a noise of disgust and turned away, but found herself now facing the table of food—which was suddenly much closer than it had been before—and her stomach responded with a loud and unladylike growl.

Jareth, having hidden the crystal with a twist of his hand, glided to the table gracefully, the feathers and shreds of his cloak billowing about him, and pulled out a chair chivalrously for her. When she refused to move, he half shrugged and elegantly lifted a spoonful of soup—creamy tomato, Sarah's favorite—to taste it with a teasing glance.

"Mm. I can see why you enjoy it so much." He then made a show of tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into the sauce of a pasta dish and ate it with a similar noise of delight. "You really do have excellent taste. Won't you have some?"

As hard as it was to watch him eat, with her stomach protesting audibly, she couldn't look away. This had less to do with his seductive manner and more to do with the tantalizing aroma of the food, though Jareth was unaware of this and continued sampling the dishes provocatively for what he thought was her benefit.

All of her favorites were there, though some of the combinations weren't exactly well suited—chinese stir-fry sat next to fettuccini alfredo, a mountain of chocolate mousse pie towered over tuna noodle casserole, a stack of pancakes with bacon was paired with a crisp salad. And presiding over it all on a raised dais, though she hadn't noticed it before, was a bowl of peaches. Jareth, noting the way her brow furrowed on seeing them, pursed his lips with a mischievous smirk. He plucked a plump one from the bowl and strolled toward her, holding it out in offering.

"Perhaps I can tempt you with one of these."

"No thank you," Sarah said icily, "I remember what happened last time I accepted _one of those_."

He grinned, "So do I. It was quite…" He paused, as if searching for the word, and traced the tip of his forefinger across his mouth thoughtfully before finding the word. "Enlightening."

Sarah had noticed that if she was silent long enough, he would elaborate and this time was no exception. A curious lift of her eyebrow was all the encouragement he needed to continue.

"Up until then, I was under the impression that you viewed me solely as an antagonist." Sarah gave a small exhalation of air in agreement. She certainly had. And still did. Mostly. "But when you cast me in the role of the charming prince—"

"—Now wait just a second!" Sarah interrupted testily, "I didn't 'cast you' as anything!"

"Oh, come come come, Sarah," Jareth exclaimed, just as testily, "It was _your_ dream. I was merely playing the part you chose for me."

" _Playing the part I chose for you_ ," Sarah repeated with disgust and added dismissively, "That's ridiculous." She was trying hard to put conviction in her voice that she didn't feel.

"Is it?" He asked, then moved closer to ask silkily, eyes on her lips, "Is it really so ridiculous, Sarah?"

As a girl, Sarah had adored the tale of Cinderella—a beautiful, long-suffering heroine who is magically swept into a dazzling world of wealth, who captivates the handsome and charming prince, and who runs away from it all at midnight—the splendor and luxury, the potential for happiness, supposed 'true love'—only to have it come find her again and sweep her off to a happily ever after. Much of that peach-induced dream had felt familiar. And when she'd first laid eyes on him in the ballroom, she'd known he was the prince, the 'true love' she'd been searching for. The words he sang to her, the way he held her as they danced, the earnestness with which he'd gazed at her… it had all felt so perfect, as if it was exactly as she'd always expected. Until something had shifted and everything had felt so very wrong.

Remembering this all, Sarah let out a long breath and shook her head ruefully. Not for the first time these past few weeks, she was frustrated with herself. If that hopelessly romantic part of her was a flesh and blood person, Sarah would have given her a sharply judgemental look and a biting rebuke, but as Jareth was the only available target for her frustration, she frowned and turned her back to him. She was tired of him being right. Jareth, not the least bit troubled by her response, smiled smugly and resumed his tale.

"When you cast me in the role of the charming prince and eagerly searched for me, I realised your feelings toward me were not quite so animus as I'd believed them to be." He paused for a long time and when he spoke again, his voice had a faraway quality, as if part of him had traveled back in time. "You were such a radiant little thing. All that innocence and nubility, wrapped up in one creature. And your eyes," he half-laughed, "the way you looked at me..." He shook his head as if still surprised by the memory.

Sarah had listened to him intently, her romantic side exulting in every word and oblivious of any reproach her more sensible counterparts offered. She kept silent, her lips pressed into a straight line as a small battle waged in her heart between being flattered and being irritated.

"It was then," he continued, "that I knew I wouldn't be satisfied with simply keeping your brother." He stepped closer and leaned in to breathe, "I wanted to keep you too."

With that covetous statement, in which she was referred to as an object to possess, irritation won the battle. "Yes," Sarah said sarcastically, turning to face him, "I'm sure I would have made a _delightful_ goblin." He chuckled and, looking deeply into her eyes, corrected her.

"Only children—young children—become goblins. Once enough of the innocence of childhood has faded, say nine or ten years of age, humans don't make much of a transformation." He reached up to wrap a strand of her dark hair around a pale gloved finger, admiring it. "You were never in any danger of that." The intimacy of his touch should have pushed Sarah to move away, but there was something tender in his expression that caught at her breath. Memories from her dreams floated to the surface of her mind, drawn up by the warmth of that look. His gaze and hand moved to trace along her jawline, "You would have remained much as you are now." His other hand reached up to trace the curves of her temple and down her cheek, and Sarah felt desire begin to coil tightly in her chest. The Goblin King continued quietly, "Toby would have changed, but he's far too old to do so now," his gloved finger tips brushed her bottom lip and she parted her lips unconsciously, "You will both stay much as you are now."

Sarah was still clear-headed enough to recognise the implication in his statement—that Toby would fail and they'd become permanent residents of his realm. She replied saucily, "Well, of course. Soon, we'll be standing back in the entryway and you'll be winging your way out the front door." She was challenging him, pushing back against his presumptive declarations, and was irritated when he grinned in amusement at her defiance.

Wheeling about to move a few paces away, gesturing as he spoke, Jareth replied, "After which I'll no doubt be forced to watch you both from afar, ignored or rebuffed with silent contempt." He laughed aloud at the idea, causing Sarah to clench her fists in barely contained anger, before he added in the same amused tone, "Forced to watch as Toby's gift wreaks havoc on your world, possibly destroying all of you in the course of it, and certainly robbing my world of potent magic." At mention of Toby's powers, the air went out of Sarah's lungs. In her fury at being duped and trapped, she'd forgotten about Toby's new ability. Jareth came back to her, watching her face searchingly, then smiling, "Luckily, I've arranged to have a more agreeable conclusion for everyone involved."

"A more agreeable conclusion? One where we are held prisoner here for the rest of our lives?" Her eyes were flashing and her words were sharp and bitter. _If he thinks we'll just roll over and accept defeat, he's going to be_ _ **very**_ _disappointed_ , she thought pridefully as she returned his smiling gaze with a sternly defiant one.

"After the completion of Toby's inevitably unsuccessful challenge, you both will be citizens of my realm, not prisoners. You'll be afforded all the rights and privileges any citizen would have—freedom of movement and such," he waved his hand glibly as if the rights and privileges granted the citizens of his realm should be readily apparent, leaving Sarah to briefly wonder what the 'and such' entailed, "At which point Toby will begin his training under my guidance," he leaned forward and took her chin between his thumb and curved forefinger, causing a little thrill to run through her body, "And you, my precious thing, will be free to turn my world however you see fit." It was obvious—from his expression and his other hand slipping lightly onto her waist—he felt confident just what this 'world turning' would involve. Sarah's ever present romantic groaned lustily at the suggestion, but she proudly hid it with a bitter response.

"And in the meantime, while we await Toby's _inevitable failure_ ," her emphasis laden with a sarcasm which appeared to escape him, "I'm trapped here. In this room. Like a prisoner." If her sarcasm had gone unnoticed, her bitterness certainly couldn't. He dropped his hands and stepped back with an conciliatory expression.

"Like a prisoner, no. Like a hostage, however..." He let the end of the sentence remain unsaid, but his look clearly stated that she was exactly that.

With an exasperated sigh, she again spun away and began to stomp off. Under her breath, she murmured the beginning of a thought, "This is so…" _Wrong. Infuriating. Impossible._ Several descriptors for this situation came to mind, but it was the one she wouldn't have said aloud that Jareth, who had sprung forward to silently follow her, murmured against the back of her neck.

"Unfair?"

Sarah stopped and stiffened, indignation and desire warring within her. Though he'd already caressed and touched her several times since his arrival, this intimacy was different. The warmth of his breath on her neck, unexpected, sent shivers down her spine and warmth radiated down her body.

 _He knows just what to do, damn him!_

Not trusting that she could hide her arousal, she didn't face him when she coldly said, "Even without my help, Toby will beat your Labyrinth. You are underestimating him."

"On the contrary," he murmured, sending more shivers through her as his breath caressed the back of her neck, his lips a hairbreadth from the delicate skin there, "I learned quite a while ago not to underestimate a challenger." He ran a gloved finger down the side of her bare arm as he said softly, "I made that mistake with you. I don't intend to repeat it." Sarah barely suppressed a visible shiver and was about to step away, when his next words drained away any warmth of desire and froze her in place, "I've made it impossible for him to beat my Labyrinth." He was now brushing aside her hair and leaning in to the curve where her neck and shoulder met, seemingly oblivious of the chilling effect his word were having on her. "Unlike you, he won't find assistance," his lips brushed against her skin briefly, "No rebellious gardeners or chivalrous knights. All the Labyrinth's denizens have been instructed to impede his every step." He had now moved to her other shoulder, "It is doubtful he has even _found_ the entrance yet. And if he does manage to make it in, he'll find the dangers are more numerous and the hardships more grueling than any previous challenger faced." Sarah's heart clenched at the idea of Toby facing more dangers than she had—what she had faced had been quite enough. That Jareth had arranged for her brother to have a more difficult ordeal than hers infuriated her. _He's just a kid!_

"I've had twelve years to plan every detail of his run." The tips of his gloves traced a line down her back as he leaned to drop a chaste kiss on her shoulder. "I will not be defeated again. You and your brother _will_ stay ...forever."

At that final declaration, Sarah's outrage broke though her paralysis of disbelief. With an exclamation of fury, she spun and struck at him again. And again, Jareth was faster.

In one smooth motion, he grabbed her assaulting hand by the wrist and this time he pulled her fully against him, at least he would have if her free arm wasn't pushing against him to buy herself a few inches. His other arm clasped around her waist tightly as if leading her in a dance rather than restraining her attack. After a long moment of conflict—with Sarah sputtering angrily, trying to wrench herself free, and Jareth holding her immovably, his gaze bearing down on her with an intensity that filled the air—she realized the futility and stopped struggling. Leaning as far back as his grasp would allow, she scowled at him. "You are—" He interrupted to offer some options sardonically.

"Powerful? Compelling?" His smirk grew and he dropped his voice to add huskily, "Irresistible?"

"Cruel."

Her word dropped like a stone into calm water, causing ripples of emotion to cross his face—emotions Sarah couldn't quite read. Though his grip on her wrist remained strong, his arm dropped a fraction of an inch, and she felt some of his intensity drain from him as his eyes lost much of their usual sharpness.

"Only when necessary." He said it quietly, as if it was a private admission.

His response was unexpected and after a hesitation, she asked quietly, "Why is any of this necessary?"

Jareth didn't reply. A new kind of intensity began to fill the space between them as he looked into her eyes, willing her to understand. The silence stretched, counted not in seconds but breaths, and the memory of dozens of similar—though more willing—embraces, came to Sarah's mind. This close to him, breathing in his scent and feeling the warmth of his body seeping into her skin, Sarah found the line between passionate fury and passionate desire becoming blurred.

Her free hand, pressed against his chest to keep distance between them, felt the rhythm of his breath and the heat of his skin radiating through the layers of thin, ruffled material. The urge to strike him was morphing into one of pulling him closer. She began thinking how easy it would be to stop resisting, to let him pull her in, to grab a fistful of the fabric and pull him even closer until there was no space left between them. Her resistance softened almost imperceptibly and he incrementally drew her closer.

Jareth's gaze dropped to her lips and drew up again hungrily. There was an unspoken question in that look and Sarah's heartbeat quickened. They were close enough now that the warmth of their breath, now both coming shallow and quick, mingled. All it would take was a tilt of the head and a few inches of leaning in, the slightest movement would grant permission and Jareth would respond... Sarah suddenly realised that she _was_ leaning in and jumped back—as much as anyone captured in a strong embrace can jump—with alarm. _This is_ _ **not**_ _what I want,_ she thought feverishly, which was contradicted quickly by an insistent, _Oh yes I do._ That damned romantic part of her was aching to surrender, to take what the Goblin King of her dreams had always promised but never given. But that part was swiftly overruled by the resounding thought, _This will not help Toby._

Jareth, having felt her grow soft and yielding before coming to her senses, did not release her but jerked her back to him with a savage fierceness. The jolt caused her free hand to lose its resisting position and her breath was forced out of her as their bodies collided. He had moved so suddenly, a show of almost brutal strength, that Sarah barely had time to put up a fight before he changed gears and was all tenderness again, murmuring her name and releasing her wrist to gently bury his fingers into her hair and pull her closer still.

With her arm pinned between them, her hand angled awkwardly against his shoulder, pushing away was impossible. It didn't help that part of her wanted this closeness. The strength of his body, pressed against the length of hers, the warmth of his breath on her skin. The romantic inside her nearly swooned.

When he'd pulled her to within an inch of his lips, he stopped, waiting for her to close the distance, willing her to give in. She was still clear headed enough—but just barely—to recognise this for the battle of wills it was and was determined to wait him out. He was holding her so tightly to his chest, she thought he must be able to feel her heart fluttering frantically and she willed it to slow down. He whispered her name, his breath warm and spicy. Rather than having the seductive effect he no doubt intended, it reminded Sarah of her own breath—the product of four cups of coffee, eight hours without food and an entire day since it had last seen a toothbrush. It was a thoroughly unromantic thought and absurd enough to break the tension. Sarah, inwardly mocking herself for feeling self-conscious— _Why care if your breath smells bad? Maybe it'll chase him away!_ —turned her head away.

"Please stop," she said softly.

Jareth watched her for a moment longer, but when she didn't meet his eyes, he loosened his hold, letting her step back and out of his arms. She didn't retreat altogether, but stood an arm's length away, looking at him from this safer distance and thinking hard for the right words that would convince him to let her go.

Jareth watched her like a man dying of thirst in sight of water. Seeing his expression it occurred to her that, despite his claim that her expectations held no power over him, perhaps he wasn't entirely immune to her. _Maybe if I just ask?_

"Jareth," his name had a visible effect, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, "Please. Let me go. Toby wouldn't have sent me here if you hadn't been driving him to do it. You tricked him and it's not...:" she hesitated to use the word, but continued with a sigh, "it's not fair."

"I never said I was fair, Sarah." He said it without a drop of remorse, all smouldering intensity.

"And what if he does fail and you keep us forever—what then? You think we'll actually trust you? How could we after your deceived us so cruelly?" Jareth looked away unfeelingly, as if such matters were unimportant. Sarah quickly moved to his line of sight, "If we don't trust you, how would that work? Toby wouldn't willingly train with you." Jareth's attention was caught by that and he narrowed his eyes at her. "And what about us?" She stepped closer, saying earnestly, "How can I love you, if I can't trust you?" She knew it was a bit of a chance—maybe it wasn't exactly _love_ he was interested in, but if he'd really been watching her for years, he'd know sex and love didn't exist separately for her.

Her words hung in the air between them, naming the invisible barrier Jareth hadn't understood was there until this moment. After his look of comprehension came one of irritation and his cloak billowed as he stormed off to think a short distance away.

Sarah, having been running on adrenaline and anger, both of which had faded, felt drained. Her head began to throb and she just wanted to sit down. Finding a chair behind her, she sank gratefully into it, resting her elbow on the armrest and her forehead on her hand, pressing at her temple. Thus occupied, she missed seeing the flash of consternation that passed over Jareth's face when he turned and saw her seated, and wouldn't have understood its significance if she had. He recovered and when she looked up to the sound of him clearing his throat, he was back to his usual imperious expression.

"All of this could have been avoided years ago if you had accepted my offer."

"Your offer?" Sarah dropped her hand and repeated scornfully, "Of pretty baubles full of empty dreams?"

Jareth's shout shook the room, "I offered you _everything_!" Then less violently, "Everything you could possibly desire!"

Sarah shook her head stubbornly, but didn't meet his gaze, which was full of long suppressed pain, staring instead at the floor before her and continuing to rub her temple. This wasn't getting anywhere. If he would just leave, she could put out the fire and try the chimney. Once her head stopped pounding, that is. "All I want," she said tiredly, "All I _desire_ , is my brother's safety. If you won't call off the challenge, then let me help him." She looked up at him, "Please."

He gave a quiet sigh and shifted his weight from one boot to the other, his cloak fluttering, before replying softly, "There are rules. Rules that must be obeyed."

"Even for the King?" Sarah looked skeptical.

" _Especially_ for the King," he said grimly, and turned away. He apparently agreed with her that their discussion was going nowhere, because he walked in the direction of the nearest shadowy corner. Before stepping completely into the darkness, he looked over his shoulder and said, "It's possible I was in error, deceiving you as I did. But what's done is done. Perhaps you will come to understand my reasons… _with time."_ And with that, he had stepped into the darkness, fading from sight, his last words ringing through the cavernous room.

* * *

 _Thirty-five minutes_

Hoggle had been ordered to remain in his home for the next twenty-six hours by a very good natured Jareth. Having defied his monarch once before, he didn't dare even question his command. It was only recently that he'd been given all his rights back.

After Sarah's departure, he had found himself frequently the target of Jareth's fury; sent to the bog or oubliettes over the slightest thing-there were too few roses on a particular vine, a fairy had sprinkled dust on His Majesty's boot, Hoggle had made the immense offense of passing gas (when he thought he was alone, but happened to be watched by the King). This was not even counting the occasions he and his friends returned from visiting Sarah-in the early years when she still called for them-somehow Jareth always seemed to know about the visits and would punish everyone accordingly (which meant the bog, so it wasn't that bad of a punishment until Jareth got wise and changed Sir Didymus' orders, so that they didn't just need the fox's permission-which was always eagerly granted-but also the King's permission, which was not so easily obtained). Those visits had long since ended, but Jareth's wrath had taken much longer to ebb.

So, in light of this, in his cottage Hoggle was determined to stay. After an afternoon of cleaning his already tidy home, he was about to sit down to a hot bowl of stew when there was a knock on the door.

Hoggle almost never had company. Sir Didymus and Ludo didn't leave the confines of the Labyrinth. Jareth never bothered to knock. Or use a door, for that matter.

Hoggle determined to ignore the knocking. Whoever was knocking was no one he knew. And most likely was the reason Jareth had ordered him to remain inside and talk to no one. But whoever it was, he was persistent. After a few unsuccessful knocks, a boy's voice called out.

"Hello? I'm sorry to disturb you… but I… well, I need your help. Can you show me the way into the Labyrinth? Please?"

Hoggle rolled his eyes and made a dismissive noise. If he ignored whoever that boy was long enough, he'd go away.

But it seemed it might take a while for that to happen. The boy circled the cottage and tried to peek in the curtained windows, before resuming his knocking with more vigor.

"I know you're in there, I saw you moving around. Please. I need your help."

Hoggle lost his patience and broke Jareth's command by yelling, "Go away!"

"Please! It's really important! I need to get through the Labyrinth. Or I'll never see my sister again."

"Well, you should of thought of that before you wished her away." That shut the boy up for a while. But then Hoggle heard the door creak and from how the boy's reply came, Hoggle knew the boy had seated himself on his front steps and was leaning against his door. He wasn't going away. Hoggle groaned and covered his face with his hand.

"You're right," said the boy, "I should have. I was so mad. But if I don't get to her, he'll keep her here forever."

"That usually is what happens. Now go away. I won't help you."

"All I need is for you to tell me how to do it. You don't even need to leave your house. There has to be a door to the Labyrinth somewhere… and…" the boy hesitated, "I have this feeling that you're supposed to help me."

Hoggle didn't reply. He was supposed to help them, the pathetic wretches who showed up at the hill outside the Labyrinth. It was why his home was here, outside it's boundaries. But Jareth had been very specific. Stay inside. Speak to no one. The last command of particular importance because, if asked the right question, Hoggle was bound by magic to answer. And he had a sneaking suspicion that this boy would shout the right question through the door, if he didn't get rid of him soon. Hoggle wasn't a cruel person by nature… but desperate times call for desperate measures. He tried to think of what Jareth would say to this boy, something that would chase him away.

"Give up now and do us all a favor. Your baby sister is better off as one of us." He cringed as he said the last words—he never really liked to count himself as one of Jareth's lot (despite the facts of the matter) and he certainly didn't think life as a goblin was an improvement to any circumstance. But, despite the effort this statement had caused Hoggle, the boy seemed unperturbed. He gave a deep sigh that Hoggle could hear through the door.

"She's not a baby, she's a grown up. Just turned 27 last month." Hoggle was briefly shocked into silence. The Goblin King did not take adult mortals. The hair on the back of Hoggle's neck stood on end; he had a bad feeling about this. He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

"You're lying. Jareth only takes babies. Young children, maybe. But adults? Never."

The boy's cryptic reply sounded distant, as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

"I think he had unfinished business with her." Continuing on in the same distant tone, he changed the subject fairly abruptly. "I didn't get her a birthday present. I meant to, but I just… didn't get to it." There was a long pause, during which the boy seemed to gather his thoughts back to his current mission. "So, I guess my present will have to be rescuing her." Hoggle had moved to the other side of the door and he jumped a bit when he heard the boy stand up. "And to do that, I need your help. How do I get into th—"

Realizing he was about to ask the right question, Hoggle burst into action to interrupt him. "I told you to go awa—" Hoggle flung open the door and stopped short.

The boy was a stranger to him, lanky and fair, but his eyes! He'd seen those eyes before. Unable to place it immediately, he grew gruff again and tried to sound as intimidating as possible. "I already said I can't help you. Go away." He was unprepared for the look of recognition that slowly dawned on the boy's face.

"I know you! I know who you are! You're Hoggle!"

It was an indicator of how rarely anyone pronounced his name correctly, that a little ember of fondness for this boy began to glow deep in his little dwarvish heart. However, it wasn't until later he could trace it to that moment, because currently his confusion and fear were competing for his attention.

"It is you!" The boy continued, "You look just like the bookend! She used to tell me stories about you—she'd hand that little bookend to me at bedtime and tell me about your adventures."

At this point, the confusion was beginning to fade and fear was taking over. Hoggle tried to slam the door shut, but the boy stopped it easily. Still talking, a new kind of realization was washing over his young face.

"She told me about how you helped a girl rescue her baby brother from an evil king… That was me. Oh my god! That was me." The boy dropped his hand from the door and turned to sit on the step again. Hoggle, who was beginning to suspect he knew exactly who this boy was and who the Goblin King had taken was, didn't bother shutting the door. "I used to beg her to tell me that story. It was my favorite one. She was telling me about it my whole life. I just never realized..."

After a few moments of silence, during which the boy surreptitiously rubbed at his eyes, Hoggle gathered his courage to ask.

"Who are you?"

"Toby Williams." The boy didn't turn around. Hoggle was almost certain, but he had to hear it.

"And your sister?"

"Sarah."

Hoggle reeled for a moment, then seated himself beside the boy with a thud. His trepidation, now that his suspicions were confirmed, grew into horror.

Sarah.

Sarah was here, in the Underground. Jareth held her prisoner. And there was no knowing what he intended for her. When she had defeated him, his fury had been palpable. The entire kingdom had suffered his wrath for months afterward.

Now he had her. If she survived the allotted thirteen hours, she would be lucky. Hoggle's horror crystallized into determination.

Toby was watching him now. "I always thought she'd just made you up, but you're real. And you really knew each other. You were her friend."

"Yeah. She was the first friend I ever had."

"I have to get her back. You helped her when she had to rescue me. Will you help me get into the Labyrinth?"

Hoggle looked at Toby with a determined look on his little dwarf face. "I'm not jus' helpin' you get into the Labyrinth. I'm helpin' you get through it." He stood up and looked in the direction of the castle. "We're comin' Sarah."

* * *

 **A/N: You know the phrase _milling butter_? That was what I did with this chapter. I hope the result is satisfying. Though I _know_ it will have a glaring absence of lovemaking for some of you-I'm looking at you, Peach Dreams! But fear not. I am not a troll and wouldn't promise romance without delivering romance. At some point. In the future. Like the epilogue.**

 **Mwah-ha-ha-haaaa!**


	11. Chapter 11

_One hour, thirteen minutes_

Sarah sat, elbow on the armrest and hand rubbing her temple, and watched the place where Jareth had disappeared.

" _It's possible he was in error_..." she quoted under her breath and scoffed. "If _that's_ his idea of an apology..." She fumed a bit more. " _Understand his reasons._.." Another scoff echoed the room. " _With time_ …" She harumpted. He was an excruciatingly infuriating individual.

Always needing to have the last word. Never taking anyone's thoughts or feelings into consideration. Barely able to admit the error of his ways, nevermind actually apologizing for them. So mercurial in nature—full of lust and longing one moment, snapping with anger or laughing with delight the next. _If he wasn't so goddamn beautiful…_ she thought and shook her head, letting that train of thought end before she spent too much time on it. _Focus, Sarah,_ she told herself.

With a sigh, she heaved herself back onto her feet and made her way to the place he'd disappeared. She was fairly confident there wasn't a door hidden there, but checked to be sure. If there was one, it was hidden well and after another prowl around the edges of the room did not turn up another door, she went back to the fire.

It seemed a shame to put it out, as it was the only warm and cheery thing about the place, but she was determined to find a way out. Lighting the candles on several candelabras until she had enough light, she turned collected the tureen of soup and several pitchers of liquids, each smelling heavenly, and dumped them on the fire, dousing it completely. She folded the velvet bedspread over the sodden, ashy mess, taking a little malicious glee at the damage it no doubt did to the fine fabric, and then crawled into the still warm fireplace with the brightest candle holder in hand. She hissed in pain when her knuckles brushed against the still hot bricks, as she held up the light to get a glimpse of the chimney above. Her shoulders sagged as her hopes fell; the chimney opening was very wide in one direction, but narrow in the other. Far too narrow for her to fit though. As her arm drooped, melted wax spilled onto her hand and she jumped, exclaiming in pain, only for her other arm to collide with the hot fireplace wall again and she exclaimed louder, dropping the candle holder altogether and showering herself in hot wax.

Sputtering and cursing, she scrambled out of the fireplace, wiping away the wax and sucking on her burned hand. It was then that she saw them. Four goblins, attired in shabby rags and various attempts at armor, stood staring at her with varying expressions of interest and suspicion.

A midsized goblin, with two greasy looking braids wrapped around her head and held in place by what appeared to be a dozen broken writing utensils and several bent forks, wore a garland of cracked eyeglasses and magnifying lenses, one of which she held up to examine Sarah with an eager interest. Beside her was a tiny, rodent-like goblin that watched her with beady black eyes and no expression. Beside him was another midsized goblin, with a long, pointy nose above protruding lips that resembled a beak, wearing a look of extreme suspicion and a red helmet with an absurdly long spike—looking more like a funnel than protective headgear. Behind this trio towered a large goblin, almost as tall as Sarah's shoulder. He was a warthog-faced creature with a horned helmet and he watched her with a fond, if dull-witted, sort of interest.

"Um, Hello," she said tentatively. This greeting earned vastly different responses from its recipients.

The first goblin dropped her lens and turned excitedly to her neighbor, squeaking, "See, Beatty? The Sarah's friendly!"

The third goblin did not drop his suspicious expression, but looked at the first one over the head of the rodent-goblin and sneered in a high pitched, gravely voice, "Just because she says 'Hello,' don't make her friendly. Humans are two-faced—just you remember that!"

The largest goblin, meanwhile, barreled forward to chuckle and mumble and offer his hand in greeting, knocking the distrustful goblin off his feet. The rodent-goblin, who had been called Beatty, smoothly avoided being knocked over by stepping aside just in time, all while continuing to stare at her blankly.

Sarah shook hands a bit awkwardly, in part because the goblin didn't seem to understand how handshakes worked, and after looking at him for a moment felt a flicker of recognition. "We've met before, haven't we?" The lumbering goblin chuckled and mumbled something about a party. "Oh! You're one of the goblins who visited me, aren't you? After I got Toby back?" He burbled and chuckled some more and Sarah smiled honestly at him, "Well, it's good to see a friendly face here." The skeptical goblin, having indignantly gotten back on his feet, scoffed loudly at that.

"Do all humans sleep in fireplaces?" asked the eager she-goblin, who had climbed up onto the couch to get a better vantage point and was now less than a foot from Sarah's face, who startled a bit on discovering her closeness.

"Sleep in fireplaces?" She repeated, puzzled. The goblin hopped down, hustled to the fireplace and tugged at the bedspread explicatively. "Oh! Um… No. We sleep in beds. Usually. I… I was just..."

"Putting out the fire," said the warthog-goblin with an understanding nod.

"Well, um, yeah," Sarah said hesitantly. These were Jareth's subjects and she didn't wanted them reporting that she was trying to escape.

"You were trying to escape up the chimney." The third goblin said irritably, stepping forward and elbowing the large one aside, to point a long finger at her and shake it, "But you wouldn't get far. The Goblin Army is much more impressive than last time they battled you. His Majesty trained them up right." He folded his arms with a satisfied air and Sarah wasn't sure if his satisfaction stemmed from the Goblin Army's training or from having given her a good scolding. It was clear that he did _not_ like her.

The first goblin was now standing in the fireplace, peering up at the inside of the chimney through a cracked binocular, exclaiming with dismay, "You could fit through this?!"

"No." Sarah replied with a crooked smile, choosing impulsively to be straightforward, "But I had to see if I could."

"Ha!" The third goblin barked, as if her admission proved some larger point.

The first one, having stepped back out of the fireplace, looked curiously at Sarah and asked, "Why are you trying to escape? You're supposed to wait to be rescued."

Sarah sat down, to be closer to her eye level ...and because she was exhausted.

"I need to help my brother."

The third goblin made a scornful noise and wandered off in the direction of the food, but the first one plunked herself down and leaned forward with interest. The fourth goblin ambled toward the couch and leaned against it, listening. Sarah hadn't seen him move, but the second goblin, Beatty, was once again facing her and watching with an inscrutable expression. With three of these goblins seemingly eager to hear her, Sarah decided she'd try to convince them to help her.

"You see, Toby is just a kid still. I know he didn't really _mean_ to send me here and now he's running the Labyrinth alone and Jareth said it's more difficult than ever and…" she trailed off, then added regretfully, "If I hadn't sent him here as a baby, if I hadn't been too afraid to tell him about it when he was growing up, if I'd just ...done things differently, then we wouldn't be here. He'd be safe at home, drawing pictures of superheroes or elves or whatever. He'd be a normal kid, with a normal life. But instead he'd running a Labyrinth with oubliettes and bogs and…" Sarah felt the pricking of tears at the back of her eyes. It was definitely a testament to how tired she was, that she was on the verge of tears. She fought it by adding bitterly, "Jareth'll probably sic the Cleaners on him first chance he gets."

"Probably," agreed an unfriendly voice from the area of the food with far more glee than was called for. The large goblin, however, patted her shoulder sympathetically.

"Why did His Highness put you here?" The inquisitive she-goblin asked unrelatedly, waving her arm to the room. Sarah opened her mouth to answer, but didn't know what to say.

"Because it's the only room without doors or windows," volunteered the antagonistic goblin through a mouthful of food.

"If it has no doors or windows," Sarah asked eagerly, "how did you four get in?"

"We made a hole," the lumbering goblin explained proudly.

"Did he send you here?" Sarah asked with a surmising glint in her eyes and a quirk of a smile. She had the beginning of an idea.

"No," the first goblin shook her head, setting her lenses and eyeglasses to clinking, "we were curious about you." The third goblin scoffed at this, but, as usual, was ignored by the others. "So we came to see you for ourselves."

"Wouldn't he be mad if he knew?" Sarah's eyes began to twinkle mischievously.

The first and fourth goblin shrugged noncommittally, while the third said emphatically, "He _definitely_ would be."

"Then, you don't mind him being mad at you?" Sarah was now outright grinning. Asking them for help just might work.

"That lot," volunteered the third goblin, pausing to swallow before finishing, "is too dumb to care about what Jareth thinks."

"That is not true!" The female goblin exclaimed indignantly, "Beatty is _not_ dumb." She looked down at the tiny one proudly and he, for the first time, removed his gaze from Sarah to nod in a dignified manner at the third goblin. "And I'm just too curious." She raised her hand to whisper conspiratorially to Sarah, "It's my weakness. I just can't help myself."

"What about you," Sarah turned to the table and said challengingly, "You say they're too dumb to care. Are _you_ too dumb to care?"

The goblin stopped, handful of chocolate pie in midair, and glared at her.

"No, he cares," the first goblin said, "He just doesn't like to be left out on any mischief." He shrugged as if to say 'guilty as charged' and stuffed the handful of pie into his mouth. The talkative goblin then hopped up and hustled over to him, asking, "So? Is the food poisoned like you thought?"

"Poisoned!" Sarah exclaimed. She'd expected it to be enchanted, but certainly not poisoned.

He shook his head, "Not even a dream-spell. Nothing." He sounded disappointed to the point of offense.

"Wait," Sarah said, "Why were you eating it if you thought it was poisoned?" He gave her a withering look, as if only a complete moron would ask such a question. She looked at the others for explanation, but the inquisitive goblin had moved on to investigate another portion of the room and the large goblin just gazed at her with the same dimwitted fondness. Beatty just blinked.

"He left all this equipment out!" The first one had found the table of tools and was standing atop it, peering through her lenses at the various instruments. She dropped them to look at the others across the room, saying, "He _must_ trust The Sarah. He wouldn't leave all this here for her to use if he didn't."

"That or _he knows_ she doesn't know how to use them."

Sarah moved over to the table, the little goblin drawing her interest. "You keep calling me 'The Sarah'. Why?"

The goblin shrugged, "We all call you that."

The answer didn't satisfy Sarah, but she decided to let the matter drop in favor of another question. Looking at all the objects spread on the table, she asked, "What do all these do anyway?"

"Search me." The goblin hopped down and made a beeline for another section. Sarah, looking more carefully at the table, noticed an object that looked like a compass on a chain.

 _When I get out of here,_ she thought to herself, _that could be useful navigating the Labyrinth_. Seeing the goblins appeared to be occupied, she quickly took it, tucking it in the purse still slung across her body. She turned and jumped to find Beatty directly behind her, watching silently.

"Oh. Hi." She managed to say stupidly. Beatty just blinked. With an uncomfortable smile, she sidled around him and followed the she-goblin, who was looking with great interest at the bed.

"That's a _lot_ of candles."

"It sure is," Sarah agreed pleasantly, watching Beatty out of the corner of her eye to see if he would report her pocketing of the compass.

"Why would anyone have that many candles around a bed? You'd want it dark for sleeping."

"I can't imagine why either," Sarah lied smoothly.

"It's dangerous," exclaimed the large one with sudden and surprising vehemence. Looking at him, Sarah noticed he was visibly shaken. "Fall out of bed and—" he made a fizzling sound, then shuddered in horror.

"Much here has had some troubles with fire over the past few years," his friend explained with a sympathetic tone as she disappeared to another part of the room.

"Oh," said Sarah understandingly. "Your name is Muck?" He nodded, still eyeing the unlit candles anxiously, as if they would suddenly burst to life and chase him around the room. She smiled at him and said in a low key to him, "When I was eleven, I caught my hair on fire at a campfire." He looked equal parts horrified and admiring, then grinned at her. If he hadn't been on her side before, he certainly was now.

"What are your names?" Sarah asked the other goblins. The grumpy one huffed and returned to devouring the plate of pasta noisily. The first one, judging from the clanking sounds coming from behind the screen seemed to be striking the plumbing fixtures with a wrench, called loudly to answer.

"The mean one is Ness—"

"Don't give her my name!" Ness dropped his plate in dismay.

"—the big one is Muck and the little one is Beatty—"

"You can't just _tell_ her our names!" He exclaimed again.

"—and I'm Healy," she finished.

"You are just asking for trouble, Healy!" Ness growled, as much as anyone with such a high pitched voice could growl.

"Jareth trusts her," Healy countered, causing Sarah's eyebrows to shoot up, "Otherwise he wouldn't have put her in his private chambers." Sarah turned away to hide her cynical expression, only to find Beatty behind her, watching.

"He put her here," argued Ness, "because it's the safest place in the castle. He couldn't very well leave her in the throne room, she'd just walk right out and reek havoc on the kingdom. He had to put her somewhere nosy and foolish goblins like you lot wouldn't get wooed by her human ways."

"If that's so," Healy responded, "Why not put her in an oubliette?" Ness didn't seem to have an answer to that and looked uncomfortable for a moment before latching on to a different approach.

"Well, whatever his reasons, remember this human," he pointed a food-covered claw at Sarah accusingly, "is the one who's been trying to usurp our King and take over our kingdom."

"What?" Sarah exclaimed in surprise, "What are you talking about?"

"Do you deny it?" Ness hopped off the table and bobbed towards her in a way that probably intended to be threatening, "Do you deny trying, on multiple occasions, to murder our King? To overpower him once and for all and take over the Labyrinth for yourself?"

"Yes," said Sarah as bluntly as possible, "I most definitely deny it. I've never tried to murder anyone and I definitely wouldn't try it with Jareth. And there is no way I want to take over the Labyrinth. I don't want to have anything to do with it! I just want to go home."

All four goblins were looking at her again with varying degrees of skepticism. Ness scoffed and rolled his eyes, Healy and Muck looked doubtful and even Beatty showed some curiosity, with his head tilted questioningly.

"So, then…" Healy asked skeptically, "Why do you keep coming here?"

"Keep coming here?" Sarah's voice was rising in exasperation, "I haven't been here for over a decade. And it was _not_ my choice to come back." The goblins looked at each other in confusion.

"But…" Muck said slowly, "You're here all the time." Sarah stared at him.

"Muck's right," Healy asserted quietly and removed a filthy notepad from a pocket, referring to a few pages before saying, "You've been here at least seven times in the past year alone. You were here just a few days ago. We always know when you're here."

"Mostly because you throw us out of whatever room you appear in," grumbled Ness.

Sarah's lips formed a perfect circle as she weakly said, "Oh," and began to feel her cheeks warm. _Oh no._ _They're talking about my dreams._

"I was in the Gauze Hall, doing research, when," Healy made a whooshing sound, "I got pushed out. So I went over to the throne room to wait and have a drink, when," she made another whooshing noise, "We all got swept out and down the stairs."

"Oh," was all Sarah could manage to say again.

"A while ago," Muck volunteered, "I was looking for eggs in the ballroom," which struck Sarah as a curious place for eggs to be, "when I got thrown out and the door slammed shut." He looked especially hurt when he added, "And all the eggs were gone when the doors opened again."

"Oh," Sarah said for the third time, before rallying a weak, "I didn't think that was really happening _here_."

"And don't forget that time a year ago," Ness declared to the others indignantly, "when _she_ put a _**door**_ _on the throne room!_ When we finally broke in, there she was, sitting on top of the King, trying to suffocate him. I was there! I _saw it!_ " If Sarah's cheeks were burning before mention of this, every surface of her was burning in shame now. She knew exactly what Ness was talking about.

It had been several weeks after her last boyfriend had broken up with her. Enough time had passed for the sting to have gone out of the breakup, leaving her mildly depressed and quite frustrated sexually. When she'd found herself in the center of Jareth's throne room, wearing her sexiest little black dress, with that strangely gorgeous man gazing down at her with a longing he couldn't hide, for once she hadn't hesitated.

She'd stalked right up to him and kissed him, passionately, earnestly, hungrily. He'd responded with equal passion, pulling her into him until she finally just clambered up onto the throne with him. Her dress had hiked up provocatively as she'd straddled his lap and Jareth had groaned appreciatively.

His hands had pressed the small of her back, pulling her closer and sending little shocks of electricity up her spine, while she buried her hands in his impossible mane of hair and deepened each kiss. Leaning back to catch a breath, she'd purred as his gloved fingers had followed her curves up her waist and over her ribs, then gasped when his thumbs brushed over her nipples and jolts of pleasure ricochet down. Jareth had given a predatory smile at that and repeated the motion until Sarah was trembling with desire and had pulled him into a frantic kiss.

After that, the dream had become a blur of caresses and moans and gasps from the two of them. Sarah nibbling his ear and Jareth surging his lap—and its increasingly insistent bulge—up against her in response, Jareth trailing wet kisses along her neck and Sarah answering by grinding down against him wantonly, her hands sliding under the deep v of his shirt to caress the hot skin beneath, his suddenly gloveless ones sliding up to her hips underneath the taut hem of her dress.

He'd hooked a finger on the side of her panty, moving to pull it down, but stopped, looking deeply into her eyes—a silent request for permission. In that moment, with the Goblin King— Master of the Labyrinth, the most powerful creature she knew of—waiting for her permission to continue, Sarah had felt sure _this time_ he would satisfy her. She'd removed her hands from the back of the throne where she'd been grasping—the better to grind against him—and gathered fistfuls of his shirt to pull him closer. She had opened her mouth to speak for the first time after all these years—to whisper yes, to _plead_ yes, to beg him to continue.

And suddenly, the door to the throne room burst open and a small phlanx of goblins had tumbled in.

" _Get out!"_ Jareth's roar had been intended for his subjects, but it's effect wasn't restricted to them. She had jerked awake, gasping, damp with desire and aching with need.

Remembering the occasion, in all its burning passion, Sarah's blush deepened. She could easily see how the goblins' had misunderstood it. She groaned in embarrassment and covered her face with her hands, muffling her words.

"I wasn't trying to kill him."

Ness made a derisive noise, but Healy asked eagerly, "What were you doing? There were lots of witnesses—everyone was talking about it for weeks after."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she mumbled, face still hidden. She dropped them to see all four watching her expectantly. "I…" she cleared her throat uncomfortably, before inspiration hit her. "What did _he_ say about it?"

"He wouldn't say anything," Healy answered, "He never does. Just sits and fumes."

"Or he storms around," Ness reminded Healy peevishly, "Bogging anyone who bothers him."

"Or he sings," Healy added. The others, Beatty included, nodded in agreement.

"He sings," Sarah repeated blankly. She had a hard time believing that.

Muck volunteered sorrowfully, "Sometimes, the King is sad." They all looked somewhat crestfallen at the truth of this observation and Sarah was struck by it on many levels.

First, it was clear his subjects were fond of him, despite his penchant for 'bogging' them. That didn't bode well for her plan to get their help. Secondly, Jareth was, apparently, upset by her dreams—which jibed with his somewhat flippantly delivered pronouncement that he 'suffered' under the 'restraining influence' of her expectations. _Maybe he really does want me just as badly as I—_ She stopped herself from finishing the thought. Thirdly, and most absurdly, it would seem the Goblin King liked to vent by singing. She mulled over that thought a bit before she realised they were again watching her expectantly.

"So? What were you doing?" Ness asked accusingly, "In the throne room. Behind a barred door. On top—"

"I was," Sarah interrupted quickly and stammeringly, "I was… trying to ...talk to him." It wasn't exactly true, but it wasn't exactly false either.

Healy was all earnest curiosity, "About what?"

"Um…" Sarah quickly went over possible answers. _How to make babies? No. Definitely not saying that._ The words tumbled out of her without thinking, "About why I keep coming back here."

Healy nodded thoughtfully, but Ness asked, his voice dripping with scorn, "And you needed to _sit_ on him to ' _talk'_?"

Sarah rubbed the back of her neck, feeling incredibly awkward, "At the time, it seemed like a good way to get his attention." Ness harumpted and turned away with a dismissive toss of his hand, but the others seemed to accept her explanation at face value.

Healy, ever brimming with curiosity, abruptly asked, "Why _do_ you keep coming back?"

"I'm... not really ...sure," Sarah said hesitantly, then added with a sigh, "I didn't even realise I was actually coming back. I thought it was all just happening in my imagination, that they were all just dreams."

Ness, unsurprisingly, grunted dubiously, mumbling something about her 'dreaming of usurping the king', while Beatty and Healy looked at one another significantly. Healy began to speak, "But your imagination—" She was swiftly cut off by a quick elbow nudge from Beatty and swallowed whatever she was about to say.

"What were you going to say about my imag—" Sarah was brusquely interrupted by another question from Healy.

"Did he answer you?"

"What?"

"About why you keep coming back. Did he answer you?" Healy, her little goblin face a study in inquisitiveness. Sarah sighed.

"No," she said grimly, "He never does."

Ness had grown bored of the conversation and wandered off to use the toilet facilities behind the screen. Muck appeared to have fallen asleep and Beatty was now inexplicably watching him with the same intensity with which he'd watched her.

Healy heaved a sympathetic sigh and said, "He never answers my questions either." Beatty turned to give Healy a look and Sarah had the distinct impression he was correcting her, an impression that was confirmed by Healy's addition, "Well, _almost_ never."

"That's because you ask too many questions," shouted Ness from across the room.

Healy shrugged and admitted, "That's true," before lapsing into silent contemplation of her many unanswered questions. It was the first time she was both still and silent since her appearance and, with Beatty apparently riveted by Muck's dozing, an awkward silence descended upon the group.

It was a silence broken only by the indiscreet toilet noises coming from behind the screen. After a particularly loud bout of flatulence echoed around the vast chamber, Sarah reached her limit. Throwing her hands up, she declared, "That's it. I need to get out of here." Though she had no idea where the goblins had made their hole, she started walking around the room in search of it.

"Are you looking for our hole?" Healy was following Sarah closely.

"Yep."

"I don't think we're supposed to let you out."

"Probably not." Sarah wheeled around to face her, "But I need your help." She knelt down to look Healy in the eye, "Healy, will you help me?"

Healy nodded emphatically without hesitation. Beatty and Muck had caught up and Sarah looked questioningly at each of them in turn. Beatty gave a single, curt nod. Muck wasn't quite sure what was happening, but when Healy explained, he chuckled and nodded eagerly.

"NO!" This squeaky shout came from Ness, hastily adjusting his pants as he hurried across the room. "Absolutely not! Jareth put her _here._ She should stay _here._ You can _not_ let her out."

Beatty shrugged and marched past them silently, leading the way to the hole. Healy looked at Ness and, mimicking the silent goblin's shrug, followed him. Sarah, avoiding eye contact with Ness, followed Healy and Muck brought up the rear.

Ness, refusing to participate in this mutiny, called to their retreating backs, "This is a really bad idea!"

"It sure is!" Healy called gleefully over her shoulder. "Think of the bedlam!" This suggestion brought a glimmer of excitement to Ness's eyes. Healy asked teasingly, "Are you sure you want to miss it?"

"Or," Sarah added sweetly, "You can always stay here and wait for Jareth. I'm sure that'd be quite a scene of bedlam too."

Ness, loathe as he was to aid in Sarah's escape, clear did _not_ want to be here when Jareth returned to find Sarah gone. He grumbled darkly about aiding and abetting a coup and followed them to the hole in the floor in a dark corner of the room.

The hole was not very large, smaller than a manhole, and appeared to have been made by removing one of the large blocks of stone that made up the floor. Looking into the hole, all Sarah could see was blackness and she had a momentary qualm. She really didn't know where they would take her and goblins weren't exactly the most reliable of creatures. Beatty dropped into the gaping hole without a hesitation and Healy, after giving a nod to Sarah, hopped in after him. Sitting down at the hole's edge, Sarah murmured resignedly, "Well… what choice have I got."

Muck looked at her confusedly and Ness said grumpily, "You could stay here. Where you're supposed to." Sarah, choosing to kill him with kindness, smiled brightly at him, then swung her legs into the hole and scooted off the edge, and was immediately swallowed by the darkness.

* * *

A/N: Some new original characters for ya there. Hope Healy and Muck are as endearing, Ness is as antagonistic, and Beatty is as enigmatic as I'm trying to make them out to be. Actually, Muck and Ness are inspired by goblins that have speaking roles in the movie; maybe you tell which ones?


	12. Chapter 12

_One hour, thirteen minutes_

Jareth stormed through the doorway of his throne room, sending goblins scurrying out of his way. He was furious. He was indignant. He was frustrated. He grabbed his crop and flung it across the room, unintentionally dislodging a goblin from a sconce, who caused a feathery flurry as it landed on top of a chicken. Unsatisfied, he snatched a goblet from a nearby ledge and chucked it across the room too. This had the somewhat predictable result of drawing a hearty cheer from the assembled crowd and at least a dozen imitators flung their own goblets too, some not yet empty. The resulting crash of noise and spray did little to appease Jareth's temper. Perhaps a song?

But any song he would sing now would not satisfy his rage, as it would no doubt be about Sarah, her cruelty and indifference. Such a song would be wallowing in misery, not venting his anger. No, this was not the moment for a song.

A goblin had approached him, carrying an official looking scroll, and bowed briefly before saying hastily, "Your Highness, I have a report from the Western Front. It appears the Spriggans have sent scouts along the border—"

Jareth pressed his fingers to his forehead to restrain himself from flinging his courier's scroll across the room, and sharply interrupted him, "Tell me. Are we in imminent danger of invasion?"

"Uh, well, no sir."

"Then perhaps this report can wait until I am in a less wrathful mood?" He lifted his hand from his eyes to give the courier a meaningful look.

"Ah. Yes. Yes sir."

The courier nodded and bowed several times in quick succession, backing away quickly. Jareth settled into his throne with a sigh, then stopped the courier's retreat when he said begrudgingly, "Wait," then murmured to himself about the neverending demands of duty, before giving orders.

"Send a battalion to the Western Front—the Fifth Battalion will do. And relay to Commander Skeet that he is to be sure their presence is seen." The courier began to back away further, but was held up by Jareth's hasty addition, "Seen. Not felt. No Spriggans are to be harmed, unless they cross the boundary. At which point they are to be captured and thrown in the nearest oubliette." Jareth had dropped his forehead into his splayed fingers again, adding as an afterthought, "Oh, and make sure they inform _someone_ of any such prisoners. I don't want a repeat of last year's ugly incident." The courier nodded repeatedly, bobbing up and down in a retreating series of bows at each additional instruction, until he tripped over an inebriated goblin, then scrambled up and out the door.

His official duties thus completed, Jareth returned to brooding.

He'd planned every detail of this reunion out meticulously. He'd had various visions of where it would begin, but finally settled on his private chambers, as it was the one place he could nearly guarantee a degree of privacy.

His entrance had intentionally mimicked their confrontation at the end of her Labyrinth run. He'd seen it as a chance to erase the humiliation of his previous defeat and have that confrontation end correctly, with an acquiescent Sarah. With her agreeing to fear him, love him and obey him. He'd been tempted to recreate the entire scene, but after consideration had decided it was too much to ask of her patience—having her wait for him on a shattered block of floating castle, while he got her brother started on the Labyrinth, would doubtlessly be a poor start to their reunion. He hadn't wished to infuriate her any more than necessary.

He had anticipated Sarah's anger at being returned to the Underground. He'd expected some sharp words and flashing eyes. And, given the content of her dreams, he had thought it would be an easy matter to turn such passionate anger into a passion that was more… amorous.

He'd expected the first half hour would be taken up with angry words on her part and placating gestures on his. What woman—particularly one already so thoroughly enamored with him—could resist his captivating charms? Then would come an hour or so of the requisite wooing—wining, dining and sweet nothings—and Sarah would, of course, see this for the glorious opportunity it was and the duration of Toby's challenge would be spent in passionate embraces, ecstatic lovemaking and glowing, satisfied exhaustion. He had planned to satisfy Sarah in every way possible—the ideal introduction to her new life in his kingdom.

He had been completely unprepared for the strength of Sarah's fury. Recalling the humiliating retreat he'd made after his smouldering entrance, Jareth groaned and again rubbed his brow with his fingertips. _How is it this mortal never fails to make a fool of me?_ His chagrin flared into anger and he stood up quickly, unable to remain sedentary while so furious. He stormed a circuit around his throne room, swatting at goblins and sending a few flying with a shove of his boot.

His attempts at chivalrous gestures and placation had proved utterly ineffectual. Once again, Sarah had been irritatingly single-minded, her focus directed entirely on her brother's condition, oblivious to other concerns. Had Jareth not been so fond of Toby, he might have held it against the boy; Toby always seemed to be coming between Sarah and himself.

Jareth sighed grimly. At least he could be sure _that_ part of his plan would be functioning as he expected—Toby would still be wandering the outskirts of the Labyrinth, unable to find the hidden entrance. _And_ , Jareth thought with a quick glance at his clock, _in eleven hours and thirty two minutes, they'll be mine._ While the thought should have buoyed his spirits, he couldn't shake the feeling that Sarah's anger wouldn't dissipate anytime soon.

He bent over to collect his crop and as he straightened, the thought crossed his mind, _What if she takes years to come around?_ This so infuriated him, he slashed the crop through the air, knocking a goblin off a ledge by accident.

The goblin landed on a surprisingly calm goat that slowly ambled away. The goblin cried happily, and drunkenly, "My noble steed!" He made it no more than two yards before the goat's owner took exception to this and a scuffle ensued.

Jareth struck his gloved palm with the crop meditatively as he paced back toward his throne. _Sarah simply doesn't understand_. If he could only explain—make her see why he needed her, why he needed them both…

Long before Sarah's first arrival nearly twelve years ago, his sovereign duties had begun to bore him. After her departure—and the subsequent restoration of all she had destroyed had been accomplished—he had found the tedium of his duties all but unbearable. The only solution, in his mind, was to expand his kingdom. To take on new lands, new places and new subjects. The trouble was, while the improved Goblin Army might be capable of defending its territory, his military could never wage a successful offensive. Goblins just weren't suited to it—they drank entirely too much and too few of them had enough ambition or discipline to manage a successful campaign. Thus, his kingdom was doomed to remain as it was, never to expand.

Never to expand, unless an creative mind turned its attention to imagining new lands and peoples. A creative imagination could bring fresh life to his land, expand the borders from within, so to speak. He could easily envision additions to his world—spectacular locations and productive citizens—but was unable to bring his vision to reality.

If anything, _that_ was unfair. To have a brilliant mind, a creative spark that begged to be put to good use, and be hampered by such a little thing as species. Humans, for all their fragility and short-lived existence, were the only ones who could truly create in his world. _It is tragic_ , he thought, _akin to having one's destiny as a brilliant author thwarted by being illiterate_.

But all that was about to change. His predecessors had contented themselves with their passive role in the creation and expansion of their kingdom and people. Jareth, if everything went according to plan—which he had to admit rarely happened when humans were involved—would be the first to have control over what and who was made in his world. To his knowledge, no one in the entirety of the Underground kingdoms had attempted this before.

If Sarah knew what a pivotal role she and Toby would play in an _entire world_ , how her creativity would literally come to life and not merely reside on some plastic computer disk or crumpled paper, surely she would understand the significance. She would comprehend the honor of being chosen to direct the course of an entire society. And surely her anger would fade.

Jareth had reached his throne again and collapsed into it dejectedly. A winged goblin, charting a meandering and inebriated course towards the keg, grazed Jareth's hair and he struck out with his crop, scowling darkly at it. Several nearby goblins, noting this exchange, inched a bit farther from him and looked knowingly at one another, muttering, "The Sarah." Jareth heard this and elegantly sank his face into his hand once again, too tired to punish them for being irritatingly perceptive.

While most goblins knew better than to approach their monarch when he was in such a mood, the lanky subject who ambled up to him now clearly did not. He gave a fairly sloppy bow, losing the metal bowl that served as an ill-fitting helmet in the process. The resulting clatter, combined with his gratingly high and nasally call of, "Yer Highness," caught Jareth's attention. He raised his head up and, seeing who it was, gave the sigh of one who is sorely tried.

"What is it, Screet?"

"The Mirror asks for your attention." He pointed behind him to the mirror that hung by the throne room entrance. In it, the room and its occupants were reflected as they were, with the exception of Jareth. The Goblin King's reflection was standing and when it caught Jareth's eye, gestured significantly at the door. Jareth, not the least bit surprised by this, turned his attention back to the messenger.

"Tell me, Screet. Do I look as if I want to be bothered at this particular moment?"

"Well," the goblin said uncertainly, "Not really, no." Jareth leaned down to better address him.

"And if I don't want to be bothered, but _am_ bothered, what happens to those who are bothering me?"

Screet knew the answer to this one and happily proclaimed, "You bog 'em!"

"That's right," he said, with an air of great patience, "They are banished to the Bog of Eternal Stench. Now… _you_ are bothering me."

"Uh oh." Screet seemed to be putting two and two together.

Jareth pointed with his crop to the mirror, "I'm certain you aren't the first goblin the Mirror asked to get my attention. But you are the one that was foolish enough to do it."

"Oh." He was beginning to look uncomfortable, "But the Mirror—"

"Screet," Jareth interrupted him smoothly, "how many times have I had to 'Bog' you over the past few weeks?"

"Seventy-six times," Screet said with certainty. Jareth, briefly forgetting how abysmally bad most goblins are with numbers, looked at him in shocked consternation, before shaking his head and correcting him.

"Three times." Screet nodded and repeated the number quietly, then Jareth leaned back, continuing, "I'm wondering if an oubliette would be a more suitable punishment for you. It would seem the Bog is not having any reforming effect."

"Sir Didymus bit me last time I arrived," volunteered Screet, as if to prove the Bog was in fact a sufficient punishment, "He said I was starting to bother him too."

"Then perhaps we shall spare my knight and send you to an oubliette for a while."

"Okay!" Screet, ever the blythful creature, said cheerily. Jareth looked at him consideringly, then waved his hand in dismissal and rose to approach the Mirror, in which his reflection was now bowing in greeting. Screet, unsure what he was to do, turned to ask Jareth, "How do I get to the oublieeeeeeeee—" This last word was drawn out in his surprise as the stone slab beneath him opened up and he fell away.

Jareth tsked at the Mirror as he drew near it, "Unkind of you, sending poor Screet as your messenger."

"He was the only one foolish enough to do it," his reflection said with a shrug. The reflection's voice, as one might imagine, sounded exactly like Jareth's. It added in a conciliatory tone, "I'll make it up to him later. Perhaps tell him where he lost his helmet, next time he loses it." It then gestured again toward the side, "Shall we?"

Jareth looked up at the ceiling, "Must we?"

His reflection had disappeared by walking behind the frame in the direction of the stairs and its voice called back in reply, "Of course not, Your Highness," its face leaning back into view to add, "I simply thought you'd prefer a more private place to think. Perhaps one with a bit less…" he looked at the assembled goblins before finishing, "...chaos." It disappeared back behind the Mirror's frame and called back, "It is, of course, your choice."

Jareth huffed irritably, but began down the stairs and as the din of his throne room faded, nodded to himself. This was better. When he arrived at the entrance hall, he began pacing the length of it.

"So… I take it your conference with Sarah did not go well?" His reflection was leaning against a pillar in another mirror, this one running the length of one wall. He looked disappointed, but unsurprised, and Jareth, finding himself in need of a sympathetic ear, scoffed in frustration.

"Hardly."

"Well, she was bound to be angry. You told me so yourself."

"Yes, yes, I did. However, I didn't expect it to go quite so ...poorly." He closed his eyes painfully at the memory of the way she greeted him. "She is so…" Jareth, rarely at a loss for words, was finding it difficult to land on the adjective that best described Sarah at this moment.

"Beautiful? Endearing? Pleasant?" His reflection suggested with a saucy look. Jareth glared at it.

"Infuriating." He had found one word at last, though it didn't quite fit. "Infuriatingly willful." He settled on the correct set of adjectives with satisfaction.

"Well, she is human."

"Other humans are not so difficult," countered Jareth sullenly.

"Perhaps that is because she's not afraid of you," suggested the Mirror.

"Do you think so?" Jareth pondered this seriously. "I suppose I should have displayed more outrage and fury at her impertinence. I was too lenient with her. Perhaps I should make an effort to be more frightening," he mused.

His reflection frowned as if tasting something bitter, "By all means, if you want to push her away. Our Sarah does not strike me as the type to bed a true villain." Jareth shot him a warning look, as much for the 'our Sarah' as for the sarcastic response. The reflected Jareth considered the matter and added, "She would a reformed one, certainly. Possibly even a remorseful one."

"I am neither reformed or remorseful," Jareth said haughtily, "Nor a villain."

"Yes, yes, but she does view you as one, so it would be easier to convince her you are reformed rather than convince her you were never one to begin with. Besides, I suspect her human prejudices would work against you there. They tend to view your kind as villains."

" _My_ kind?" Jareth said with an offended air, "As if talking mirrors aren't viewed by humans with distrust as well?" The mirror image merely shrugged. After a long pause, during which Jareth thought more on Sarah's behavior, he returned to the subject by declaring crossly, "She is entirely too willful."

"Because she is not compliant like the rest of your subjects?"

Jareth barked a laugh at that, "My subjects are _not_ compliant."

"I don't intend to be contrary," Jareth shot his reflection a look that gave it pause, "Indeed, I don't. But I _would_ point out that it has been more than two centuries since you've had even a whisper of rebellion among your populace—" Jareth nodded in proud agreement "—and whenever you give an order, it is nearly always obeyed with alacrity."

"'Nearly' being the crucial modifier in that statement."

"But given how unruly goblins are as a species, it _is_ quite remarkable how eager they are to please you. And you must admit, the ones who do not obey you immediately are not the brightest of the bunch. Their disobedience is a product of their imbecility—they simply can't remember an order long enough to carry it out."

Jareth again found himself nodding obligingly, but countered with, "And yet they frequently do things they _know_ would displease me. Like bring livestock into my throne room—"

"If I may quote the Goblin Book of Laws," his reflection interjected quickly, "'Any unattended beast is forfeit.' If they leave their animals while they come to the castle, they'll find them claimed by another. And, like as not, eaten." Jareth acknowledged the validity of this argument with a wave of his hand, before it continued, "They try to please you, as much as their chaotic-loving nature will allow. You are universally feared and mostly adored—" Jareth looked sharply and raised a brow at the 'mostly,' "—and all willingly do your bidding."

"Well, _you_ certainly never do my bidding."

"And that," his reflection said, leaning forward with a playful look, "is because _I_ am not one of your subjects."

"Yes," said Jareth with a similar smile, "And why is it that, out of all the realms in the Underground, you choose _mine_ to haunt?" This was a series of repartee often visited in their conversations.

Smirking through pursed lips, the mirror Jareth leaned back and raised a brow, "Where else would I be so handsome?"

The goblin king mimicked its expression drolly, "Such flattery."

"And your kingdom is by far the most interesting. There is always something happening here."

"That," Jareth said dryly, turning away, "is undeniable." He lapsed into silence, immediately going back in his memory to his exchange with Sarah. The suspicion that he'd gone about this all wrong was growing. Perhaps if he'd explained matters more fully in the beginning, when Sarah first asked him about Toby's powers… _No,_ Jareth shook his head to himself, _they might have refused to come. That was a chance I couldn't take._

His reflection watched him silently for a time, then said quietly, "How badly did it go, then?"

Jareth intended to ignore his inquisitive mirror, but after a long moment of silence, found himself answering, "Sarah—" he gave a disbelieving scoff, "—actually tried to _strike_ me." The mirror looked appropriately shocked. "Twice." His reflection shook its head in dismay.

"She doesn't seem the type to resort to violence. A few cutting remarks and eloquent insults, certainly. But assaulting you?" The mirror tsked, then asked indelicately, "Was this in response to your advances?"

Jareth frowned irritably at the mirror. It was an absurd suggestion, that his advances would be so unwelcome as to merit an attack. Even without the evidence of her dreams, Jareth knew Sarah wanted him.

Looking down at his gloved hands, he remembered how, as he'd held her close—breathing in her scent and feeling the coolness of her skin grow warm beneath his gloves—he'd sensed the change in her emotions. How he'd seen her gaze soften as it dropped to his lips. How he'd felt her resistance ebb.

And how—just when he'd been inwardly exulting at this victory, ready to meet her uptilted mouth with his—she'd suddenly pulled away.

"No," Jareth finally answered with a sigh and leaned his back against a pillar, rubbing his forehead yet again. "That wasn't what set her off. I suppose I was needling her, boasting a bit about my plans."

"Boasting about your plans," his reflection clarified in a deadpan tone, "As the villain does to the hero." Jareth looked sharply at it, which quickly raised its hands in a placating gesture. Jareth stomped off to resume his pacing, growling under his breath that he was _not_ a villain.

As he stormed along the hall, his reflection silently keeping pace with him, Jareth began to reexamine his words and actions, and wasn't particularly pleased by the analysis. It hadn't been his intention to rub salt in her wounds, but that was what his boasting had done. He could see that now, rather clearly.

And then there was the sound of her voice, almost pleading, when she'd asked him to stop—he bit back a groan of agony at the memory, settling instead for a quicker pace. She did believe he was a villain.

 _How can I love you, if I can't trust you?_

The question still hung in the air, her clear voice ringing in his ears. It _was_ her love he wanted. Her fear, her love, her obedience. As the King of the Goblins, he wanted her fear. To carry out his plans for his kingdom, he needed her obedience. But it was her love he most wanted. Not just her physical love—though he did want that—he wanted her devotion and adoration. He wanted it so much that the want turned into a desperate need. Another emotion he was unfamiliar with, this longing overwhelmed him—surging within him, rising up through his chest, threatening to choke him.

He flicked his wrist to form a crystal and hurled it against the far wall with a frustrated shout. He and his reflection watched it burst in a shower of shards.

"My, my," his reflection chastised him, "It would appear Sarah's temper is rubbing off on you." Jareth whirled around to point his finger at it, as if warning it not to bait him further. The mirror began examining his gloves, picking at invisible specks, before adding offhandedly, "But, of course, right now you are subject to the Challenger's expectations and young Toby no doubt expects you to be a tyrant."

Jareth startled as he realized, with no small amount of dismay, that he hadn't been influenced by Toby's expectations at all. He well knew the feeling that came when a human's expectations were effecting him, and he'd not felt it once this entire time.

"No," Jareth said slowly, "Much as I would like to blame my…" here he motioned vaguely to encompass the entirety of his recent behavior "...on the Challenger's expectations, he hasn't been influencing me."

This had never happened before, there was always some effect from the Challenger and Jareth felt foolish that he hadn't noted its absence earlier. Something was very wrong. Things were not going as they should, and that could only mean trouble.

The mirror watched the king's expression, then put on a show of brightness and offered diplomatically, "It would seem Toby is not expecting anything in particular of you." Jareth made no effort to hide his doubt as to that point, shaking his head dismissively.

"Everyone expects _something_."

"Or perhaps the boy understands you better than any human has before? Perhaps well enough to expect how you would behave of your own volition?"

Jareth hmmed thoughtfully at that, but otherwise did not reply. This reminded him of something else that had troubled him. Again, he leaned his back against a nearby column and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sarah was able to produce a chair," Jareth announced. "I was turned away from her, felt her magic, and when I looked back, she was sitting in a chair, one that hadn't been there moments before."

The mirror didn't seem to see the relevance, shrugging and shaking its head questioningly, "So… she imagined a chair?"

"Yes." Jareth's eyes were dark with foreboding, but his reflection's eyes were simply confused.

"But… you want her to be able to imagine things—to create things. Why is this a problem?"

"Because as the Taken, she's not supposed to be able to imagine anything into existence. The ability shouldn't return until after the thirteen hours have run their course. Otherwise, she could simply wish herself free."

"Ah, I see. But why would that matter? Where could she go?"

"To her brother." Jareth frowned off in the direction of his chamber. "She wants me to cancel the challenge."

The mirror frowned too, at that. "Clearly, she doesn't understand."

"Clearly," Jareth agreed. "When I refused, she insisted I take her to him. So that _she_ can help him complete the challenge."

At that, the mirror made a thoughtful noise and a foreboding look gradually came over its expression. It asked slowly, as if putting the idea together as it spoke, "Has there ever been a Taken that was not a child? Another human that was full grown when wished away?"

"No. Never."

Jareth's reflection looked meaningfully at him. "I assume you did, in all your years of planning, take this into consideration: what if the Labyrinth views _her_ as the Challenger and her _younger brother_ as the Taken?"

Jareth shook his head, "The Law doesn't specify that the Wisher be older than the Taken."

The mirror continued, ticking off each point on its gloved fingers, "But there are unprecedented circumstances that could disrupt the normal course of the Law. _He_ has been Taken before. And _she_ was a Challenger—a victorious Challenger no less—" Jareth shot it a dark look, but it pressed on undeterred. "And she _is_ a habitual visitor, whether consciously or not. The Labyrinth is used to her presence—used to fulfilling her expectations—"

Jareth shook his head stubbornly and interrupted, "No, the Labyrinth listens to Toby—it has been doing so for some time. And it took her when he wished it. _He_ is the rightful Challenger. And besides, if Sarah were the Challenger, her expectations would be influencing me."

"You are playing the villain she expects…" was the mirrors meaningful reply. Jareth practically growled his response.

"If I were under the influence of her expectations, I would _feel_ it." The mirror shrugged in acquiescence and Jareth added under his breath, "I've been under it often enough before."

"So, if Toby _is_ the Challenger and Sarah _is_ the Taken, then why aren't his expectations affecting you? And why is she able to create with her imagination?"

Jareth didn't have an answer to that. The qualm he'd felt upon seeing Sarah's chair began to grow into serious doubt. _If these things are going wrong, what else will? What if things go completely awry? What if, against all odds, Toby somehow is successful?_ The idea froze his very blood and Jareth pushed away it away with a rather forced smile, "It doesn't matter. Because in eleven hours and seven minutes, they'll be mine. And then the real adventure begins." His reflection leaned back as Jareth had done moments ago and gave him a skeptical look.

"You seem quite confident that all will go well."

"Of course it will," Jareth answered quickly and testily, as one does when insecure, "I've planned every detail of this. Sarah is held in a room with no doors and no windows, within a castle that obeys _my_ will. No amount of wishing on her part will change that—regardless of what powers she may retain. And Toby is doubtless still on the outskirts of the Labyrinth, unless he managed to stumble across the entrance or got ambitious enough to try scaling the wall." At this, Jareth smiled in earnest delight. He was absolutely certain that part of his plans were going right. He produced a crystal in his hand, deciding to see just where his young Challenger was.

"Well," his reflection said reluctantly, as the lanky form of Toby appeared in Jareth's crystal, "if you are confident that everything is—"

Jareth's shout of outrage interrupted it. What started as a roar of fury turned to incensed sputtering.

"What—! He—! I specifically told him—! That leathery little toad!" And with a vicious gesture, Jareth disappeared, leaving the mirror to wonder just what Jareth was talking about. It watched the space Jareth had been with raised brows.

"Not exactly going to plan, then." A sly smile slowly grew on the mirror's face. "These siblings should prove to be very entertaining, indeed." It looked in the direction of Jareth's chamber, several floors above. "I look forward to meeting Sarah." After a pause, it added somewhat wistfully, "Too bad he doesn't keep a mirror in his chambers."

* * *

A/N: Another OC in that magical mirror. Not much else to say, except I appreciate any feedback. These two chapters were difficult to get right. I'm not entirely convinced I did, but I want to move on because the rest of the story is going to be so much fun to write and I don't want to waste anymore time.


	13. Chapter 13

Previously on Astonishingly Willful:

Twelve years after the events in everyone's favorite movie, almost thirteen-year-old Toby finds he can have nearly any wish granted. Sarah has been followed by a certain barn owl for over a decade and also had passionate, if frustrating, dreams about a certain goblin king. Jareth has figured out a way to gain more power and the Williams siblings are at the center of his plan. After an unintentional wish has nearly fatal consequences for the school bully, Toby is desperate for answers. Jareth appears and offers to give help, but is interrupted by a fiercely protective Sarah. Toby, blinded by frustration and prompted by Jareth, wishes Sarah away. He immediately regrets it and sets out to take on the Labyrinth. Sarah and Jareth have a disappointing confrontation—Sarah is furious Jareth won't call off the Challenge and take her to Toby, Jareth is furious Sarah won't just forget about Toby for twelve hours and let herself be seduced. He leaves her trapped in his private chamber and sulks around his throne room and entrance hall, accompanied by a handsome and insightful entity who will be referred to as a magic mirror. Meanwhile, Sarah meets a group of goblins who help her escape and Toby meets Hoggle, who decides to help him rescue Sarah.

* * *

 ****Fifty-one minutes on the clock

Toby took small, shallow breaths as he stood in the doorway of the cluttered little cottage. The stew Hoggle had been about to eat, now with a layer of gelatinous scum forming as it cooled, did not smell good. Hoggle, however, didn't seem to agree and looked at the bowl mournfully before clapping a lid on it with a grumbled, "No time for that."

Hoggle moved about the cramped space, hobbling quickly as he pulled on a strange leather vest, jingling with various objects, and began to pour water into an old leather water bladder. Toby, watching Hoggle and surreptitiously examining the contents of his home, began to worry Hoggle's hobbling gait would slow him down. Well, he thought resignedly, I've got to have at least twelve hours left. It should be enough time.

Hoggle was now stuffing several lumpy biscuits into another leather satchel. He looked at Toby and grunted, "You hungry?" Since it didn't appear Hoggle was offering his questionable stew, Toby nodded. He was starving. Hoggle added another three biscuits, stopped to look at Toby, this time taking in his lanky form, and grumbled something under his breath as he added several more.

"You ain't carrying much, so you can carry this," Hoggle handed Toby the bag with the food and limped over to where his shoes were and began wrestling them on. Toby still had the book in his hand, but realised with a small start that his discman and headphones were missing. When had he lost them? He had been wearing them when the Goblin King appeared in his house…

"Well?" Hoggle irritably interrupted his thoughts, "Are you ready or are we just going to stand here?"

"Oh," Toby saw that he was blocking the doorway and quickly backed out. Hoggle shut the door smartly behind himself and then gave Toby an expectant look.

"You have to ask me a question."

"What?" Toby was baffled, which only served to irritate Hoggle further.

"You have to ask me a question," the dwarf said with emphasis.

"A question?"

Hoggle groaned, rolled his eyes dramatically, and shifted his feet impatiently, "That's how it works. To get my help, you have to ask me the right question." Toby frowned.

"But I thought you wanted to help me."

"Of course I do. But you have to ask for my help-"

"Fine. Will you help me?" Toby interrupted to ask impatiently.

"-with the right question," Hoggle finished doggedly.

"What's the right question?"

Hoggle didn't reply, but gave him a look as if to say, you really expect me to just tell you?

"I have to figure the question out on my own, don't I?" Toby said, feeling a little deflated. This was going to waste time. Hoggle seemed to think the same thing as he groaned and covered his face. Toby tried a few iterations without success, Hoggle growing more irritable with each new question, before huffing, "Can't you give me a hint?"

"I'm not supposed to even tell you about the question."

Toby exploded at that, throwing his hands up in the air as he exclaimed, "This is ludicrous! How am I supposed to ask you the right question if I don't even know what the question is?" Hoggle gazed imploringly at the sky as if wishing for magical intervention and began mumbling to himself about how humans were difficult.

"Will you show me how to get into the Labyrinth?"

This got Hoggle's attention and he said encouragingly, "Almost the right question."

"How exact does it have to be?"

"Very exact."

Toby groaned and tried again, "Will you show me-"

"Drop the 'will you'."

"Uh… Show me how to get into the Labyrinth?"

"No, no, that's not a question."

"Show-" Hoggle's sharp head shake cut Toby off, "Okay... How?" Hoggle nodded and Toby said slowly, "How do I get into the Labyrinth?"

"Finally," Hoggle muttered and without another word, led the way towards the outer wall of the Labyrinth. Toby quickly fell into step behind him and wondered how many other strange rules he'd run into with this odd little man, who was currently looking about as if searching for something. After half a minute of walking along the Labyrinth wall, with Hoggle slowing to examine every bush, Toby's curiosity was piqued.

"What are you looking for?"

"What?" Hoggle said quickly and abashedly, "Oh, nothin." But he continued to peer into every bush they passed and muttering to himself. A memory, from a story Sarah used to tell him, was triggered by Hoggle's grumbling.

"Hey, don't you have a pet Fairy?" Hoggle froze and slowly turned to Toby with a suspicious look.

"How do you know about that?" His bushy eyebrows, which Toby hadn't imagined could look menacing, somehow did as they lowered over his narrowed eyes. He took a few steps toward Toby, pointing his finger threateningly, "Did he put you up to this?" He swept his eyes around them and spoke to the air, "Is this some kind of trap, Jareth? A test of my loyalty? Because if you think—"

"No, no," Toby interrupted, shaking his head and holding his hands up in placating gesture, "This isn't a trap, I really do need your help. Sarah told me about the fairy."

Hoggle stopped shouting, but didn't drop his suspicion, "That ain't possible. I ain't seen Sarah in over a decade. She wouldn't know about her."

Toby was at a loss for words for a moment. He remember the story his sister had told him—it'd been among his favorites. "She told me all about you. How you search for treasure everywhere you go," he pointed to the collection of jewelry hanging off the dwarf's belt and Hoggle scoffed, "how you fought and destroyed a giant goblin robot," this got a slightly less emphatic scoff from Hoggle, who was actually quite proud of that escapade to this day, "and you were rescued from the Bog by a fairy who became your pet."

Suddenly, a blur flew up to his face and a livid little fairy—a child-like creature with gossamer wings shimmering behind her like a hummingbird—started cursing and spitting furiously. The vehemence the tiny creature unleashed on him was astonishing. He didn't understand a word she was saying, but it was clear he was being insulted.

"She don't like being called a pet," Hoggle, who seemed to be enjoying the fairy's tirade, said gruffly. He let her go on for a few moments before adding, "Besides, she's really more of a sidekick." The fairy didn't like this label either apparently, as she stopped insulting Toby to stick her tiny tongue out at Hoggle.

Toby backed away from her, remembering that fairies bite, and said pacifyingly, "She's beautiful."

The fairy turned to him and nodded as if to say, 'Finally, someone acknowledges it!' She flew to Hoggle's shoulder and chattered something to him briefly. Hoggle grunted an assent, then said to her, "Jareth has Sarah, apparently," he shot a suspicious look at Toby and the fairy mirrored it with a look that copied him so perfectly it would have been funny under other circumstances.

"He does," he insisted, "He came to my house and was talking to me, then Sarah burst in and told him to go, and they started to argue and…" Toby trailed off. He wasn't proud of what happened next. Luckily for him, Hoggle seemed to fill in the blanks.

The dwarf nodded and said, "That sounds like Sarah. She wouldn't back down from him, even when she was a girl." He turned and was about to continue walking when he seemed to remember something and turned around. "But she wouldn't know nothing about Isla." This was the fairy's name, apparently, as she nodded curtly, folded her arms and tapped her foot on Hoggle's shoulder while looking at Toby expectantly. "Me and Isla didn't meet until about five years ago and I ain't seen Sarah for almost ten."

"Don't look at me. I don't know how she knew. I just know that when I was a kid, I would beg her to tell me bedtime stories about you and her other friends. And the fairy rescuing you from the Bog was one of my favorites, so I asked to hear it over and over. That's how I remembered it."

This answer seemed to give Hoggle pause. "You mean," he said slowly, "Sarah'd make up stories about me?"

Toby shrugged, "I guess. She was always a good storyteller. She's an author now. A published one." That impressive fact seemed to go over Hoggle's head, as he was only interested in one point.

"Sarah is a storyteller." It wasn't a question, but Toby nodded just the same.

"Huh," Hoggle huffed thoughtfully, then shrugged and walked off, muttering to himself, "Well, that explains some things. I always thought it didn't make sense."

Toby caught up easily and asked, "What didn't make sense?"

"This scrap of spitfire taking such a shine on me—OW!" Isla had given his fleshy ear a sharp bite. He swatted at her, but she dodged it easily, then chattered angrily at him. He looked properly chastised and said in a somewhat conciliatory tone, "Or that I'd be so fond of you, you sharp-toothed beastie."

"Yeah," Toby said thoughtfully, "Didn't you used to spray f—" His sentence was stopped abruptly by a stern look from both Hoggle and Isla.

"That's a topic best left alone," was all Hoggle said. The fairy glared at both of them in turn and left Hoggle's shoulder, as if suddenly remembering she didn't like him after all.

They had been walking parallel to the wall for the duration of this conversation, but now Hoggle turned to face it so suddenly that Toby almost ran into him. Hoggle looked up at the boy with a smirk and said, "You wanted me to show you how to get into the Labyrinth? Well…" He gestured to the vine covered wall before them and suddenly, it split in half and swung open.

Toby, his heart beating quickly and his skin tingling with adrenaline-excitement, stepped through the door. He was more than a bit disappointed to find himself in the straight corridor running along the inside of the Labyrinth's outer wall, with no turns in sight. He'd been hoping for something different, something that more closely resembled his dreams—smooth stone walls or manicured hedges bending and twisting ahead of him. These walls were tall bricks, sloping gradually up in oddly offset panels, as if the constructor had been uncertain how thick to make the wall. And, unlike the parts he'd seen in his dreams, this place definitely wasn't well kept. There was moss and shimmering slime covering the walls here, the floor was littered with sticks, dead branches and overgrown vines.

It took awhile for Toby to become aware of the argument happening behind him, and when he did, he could only follow one side of it. Isla had quite a lot to say to Hoggle, but he kept shaking his head stubbornly.

"No. Nu-uh. You are staying here." A torrent of noise came from the fairy in response to that. "I don't care. We're going straight to the castle and you know what you'll do when you see him and what he'll do to you as punishment. No, you're staying here." She declared something, her tiny arms gesturing wildly. "I can take care of myself," said Hoggle in an indignant tone, "We won't need a fairy hanging around, biting people an' gettin' us in trouble." She looked slightly abashed and said something to which Hoggle replied exasperatedly, "Well, one bite was enough! We barely got out of that scrape as it was. If Ludo hadn't been there—" She interrupted again and their argument continued.

If Toby had worn a watch, he'd have looked at it meaningfully. He settled for a loud sigh and said over their noise, "Which way should I go?" The quarreling pair stopped and stared at him. "I really want to get going," he said eagerly, "So, left or right?" Hoggle gave a sigh and stumped in after him. Isla did several excited loops around the dwarf, a wildly orbiting, shimmering moon to the craggy planet of Hoggle's head, then settled again on his shoulder.

Hoggle turned decisively right and led the way, shrugging his shoulder to knock Isla off, saying crossly, "If you're comin', you're doing it on your own. You ain't getting a ride from me." Isla hovered beside him for a few paces, then drifted up to hover over his head. Moving slowly and lightly enough that Hoggle didn't seem to notice, she landed on his skull cap, perching with her toes on the ridge at the base of his hat and holding on to the front of it with her tiny hands. She looked back at Toby with a mischievous smile and he couldn't help but snort a laugh, quickly swallowing it when Hoggle turned around.

Hoggle looked at him suspiciously, but continued in silence for a while before saying hesitantly, "So, Sarah… she told you about me?" His voice tried hard to sound indifferent, but failed miserably. Curiosity was practically radiating off the dwarf. Toby felt sorry for the little man—he tried so hard to pretend not to care about anything, but he clearly cared a great deal.

"Yeah," Toby said generously, "She talked about you all the time when I was growing up—told me all kinds of stories. You and Isla and the Bog. And that time you got lost in the tunnels underground, looking for the Lost Treasure of the Dwarves." Hoggle muttered something about that being a fool's errand, but let Toby continue. "And there was one, I think, about wrestling with a water sprite… I don't remember much about that story."

Hoggle snorted, "There wasn't much to remember about it." They walked in silence for a while, Toby starting to wonder if they would ever come upon an opening that would lead them away from this corridor. To distract himself, he kept talking to Hoggle.

"She loved to tell stories about you. I think you were her favorite character. She told stories about other characters too, but not as many as she did about you." Hoggle's ears seemed to turn red, but he said nothing. "I guess you aren't really characters, though, are you. I always thought she was just making them up, but I guess not."

"Well, she certainly didn't make us up," Hoggle said as he stumped along, his fairy rider swaying precariously as he maneuvered over a large branch. "But she probably made up a lot of what she told you. If you were old enough to remember the stories, that must have been after… after she stopped calling on us." He cleared his throat as if banishing tears and after a pause asked gruffly. "She told stories about others?"

"Yeah, but I don't remember many. There was one about Ludo and the Rocks rescuing some dryads from the headless fire beasts—"

"Headless Fire Beasts? You mean the Firey's?" Hoggle interrupted.

"Um… I don't know, maybe. Is that what they're called?" Hoggle just hmmed thoughtfully, so Toby continued, "And the Knight, Sir Dimmy-dis." Hoggle snorted at that, but didn't correct him. "How he fought a horde of goblins that were plotting to overthrow the King."

"Well," Hoggle said, "Didymus did think they were plotting against Jareth," adding under his breath, "too bad for us they weren't," then in a normal volume he continued, "But it turned out they were planning a surprise party for him in honor of his three hundredth year as monarch."

"Oh," Toby said confusedly, "That wasn't exactly how Sarah told it."

"I imagine she got some of it wrong," Hoggle said lightly over his shoulder, then stopped and said, "Ah, here we are." He turned right and walked straight into the wall. Or he would have, if there hadn't been a hidden opening. The uneven construction of the wall suddenly made sense.

"A secret opening!" Toby was slack jawed. "Are there other secret openings?" He looked back along their path curiously, then his attention was caught by a tiny, bright blue object on the wall opposite the opening. "Hey, what a weird—" before Toby could lean down to look more closely at the hairy little worm perched on the wall, Hoggle exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Do you want to get Sarah, or stand around talking to worms?" His voice was so sharp that Toby hurried to follow him, through the hidden opening and to the left.

Hoggle hurriedly stumped along the narrow corridor of The Short-Cut, feeling quite grumpy. Now that his initial burst of adrenaline had dissipated, the dwarf was in a very sour mood indeed. He was no less determined to help Sarah than before, but he'd had time to consider just how unpleasant this was going to be. And it would be very unpleasant.

He wasn't sure how long it would be before Jareth realised he was helping the boy, but once the King discovered them, they would be forced out of the Short-Cut and into the Labyrinth. Jareth had made the Labyrinth far more challenging after Sarah's run, so that was something to look forward to. And then there was the inevitable fallout; Jareth would not look forgivingly on Hoggle's treason. He was in for a world of hurt, no matter how you looked at it.

It was too bad the Short-Cut, unlike the rest of the Labyrinth, was always kept cleared of branches and debris-Hoggle would have appreciated something to stomp on or kick. The corridor, open to the sky like the rest of the Labyrinth, began with stone walls that were now gradually shifting from slime-ridden basalt to glittering sandstone, as it passed through one section to the next. It went on straight as an arrow, the only change being the material of the walls and the grade of the ground under your feet-sometimes level, sometimes steep. It was just now quite steep and Hoggle was having a hard time with it, gasping for breath and wishing he'd brought a walking stick.

Toby, obnoxiously unaffected by this workout, asked brightly, "So… this isn't what I was expecting. It's not winding at all." Hoggle rolled his eyes, but didn't reply. He needed his breath for breathing at this particular moment. "Are we in some kind of a short cut?"

Isla's voice rang out from somewhere above and behind Hoggle (from the back of his cap, he suspected) as she eagerly informed Toby, "This passageway is the Short-Cut. It leads straight through the Labyrinth in about two hours, depending how fast you go." This explanation was pointless because, even though fairies speak the same language as the rest of the Underground, mortals never seemed to be able to understand them.

Predictably, Toby's reply to Isla's information was, "What did she say?" Hoggle sighed and rolled his eyes, hearing Isla sigh too. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he pictured her rolling her eyes with him.

Isla, as obnoxious, short tempered and spiteful as she could be, was also Hoggle's biggest delight. She had a biting sense of humor-which she usually didn't turn on him-and was the most enthusiastic creature he knew-excepting Sir Didymus, of course. Hoggle's life, before meeting Sarah, had been pretty miserable-working for Jareth, alone most of the time and taking what joy he could out of making others (mostly fairies, ironically) miserable. He'd been lonely, though he hadn't known it at the time. He certainly wasn't lonely anymore, with Isla around.

They'd reached the top of the hill and Hoggle stopped for a moment to lean against a wall and catch his breath. Once he thought he could manage it, he turned to Toby to give an answer to his earlier question, but was stopped short by the rapt expression on the boy's face. Quickly following Toby's gaze up the corridor, he saw that the hill they'd climbed had granted them a view of the castle. It was glowing in the amber morning light. The look on Toby's face made it clear he thought it was a beautiful sight. Looking at the golden stone parapets and towers again, Hoggle supposed it might be, if he wasn't quite so familiar with the occupants of it.

"Come on," he grumbled, as if they'd stopped for Toby to rest and not the other way around, "We ain't gonna get any closer just by starin' at it." Toby nodded and quickly fell into step behind him-the corridor being too narrow for them to walk abreast. They continued walking in silence as the view of the castle sunk behind the next hill. He'd assumed that Sarah's brother was going to be a very talkative companion, given his rather obnoxious introduction, but it appeared the boy could keep silence as well as he could talk.

Isla, bored by the silence and the monotony of the surroundings, began to humm a song. Hoggle had half a mind to tell her to can it, but decided the tune was ...kinda nice. Since befriending her, he'd learned a lot about fairy music and, while he detested most of it, he had to admit their marching tunes were catchy. He'd learned about a lot of fairy things since he'd met Isla.

That brought his thoughts back to Sarah. Now that he knew Sarah had been behind the whole thing-that she'd imagined up this friendship between him and a fairy-he wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it. If he'd learned this four years ago, when Isla was still more of a thorn in his side than a much-loved (though he'd never let it on) friend, he'd have been resentful. But now…

Still it felt ...disturbing… to know that your life isn't completely dictated by yourself. He supposed his kind should be used to it, having all been imagined into existence by some human and subject to the imaginings of whatever human happened to stumble across their paths, but no one in the Underground-dwarf, sprite, goblin, fae-liked it. Maybe humans imagined us a little too similar to themselves, he thought, since we hate not having control of our destinies.

They were working their way up another hill now and Hoggle's philosophical train of thought was dropped so he could focus on surviving the ascent. He did, however, decide that he liked one thing about this discovery; the fact that Sarah had continued to tell stories about him meant that she hadn't forgotten him. And it seemed she remembered him fondly. Loved to tell stories about me, eh? One of her favorites, them's was his words. He felt a warm glow growing around his heart, entirely unrelated to the burning in his lungs. Sarah remembered me. If he'd known that ten years ago, things might have been easier for him.

They were reaching the top of the rise when Toby suddenly gasped aloud incoherently. Sure that Jareth had appeared within their midst, Hoggle spun around, only to find Toby staring at the castle ahead, this time with confusion.

"It's… It's different," Toby exclaimed, "Like we're looking at it from a different angle than before!"

"Yeah. So?"

"But we were walking straight at it the whole time? How could we be seeing a different side of it?"

Isla made a noise that indicated she thought Toby was a moron. Hoggle, having dealt with more humans than most, wasn't surprised. "You think because this passageway looks straight, that we're going in a straight line?"

"Uh, yeah," said Toby as if it was obvious.

"Shows what you know," Hoggle said, turning back to continue on. "Just 'cause a thing looks one way, don't mean it is that way."

Toby seemed to take this in and after a handful of paces, Hoggle heard the boy murmur under his breath about things not always being what they seemed in this place.

They walked in silence for a while longer when Toby once again gasped. Hoggle, frightened once again that Jareth had appeared, swiveled around to see Toby looking at one of the walls.

"Hoggle! There's a doorway here!" Toby was reaching though the wall with a huge grin on his face.

"Yep. That's a door alright," Hoggle replied with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. To the untrained eye, this hidden entrance to the Short-Cut might have looked like a regular wall. They'd probably passed three or four without Toby noticing. Hoggle continued on. Toby, on the other hand, hesitated and when Hoggle noticed, he huffed angrily, "What? Did you want to take the long way?"

"No. ...I just… I've dreamt about the Labyrinth for as long as I can remember. I just wondered if it looked the same as in my dreams. That's all." Toby hurried to catch up, seemingly embarrassed by his curiosity, but Hoggle wasn't going to let him off easily.

"Well, if you'd rather take a tour of the Labyrinth than rescue Sarah, that's up to you."

"What is with this kid?" Isla asked rhetorically, "Does he think this is some pleasant ramble through the Underground?"

Hoggle chuckled and said, "He probably read that stupid book and thinks getting Sarah back'll be a piece of cake."

"Right," giggled Isla, "Maybe he thinks Jareth will just welcome him into the castle with open arms." Hoggle guffawed aloud at that.

"Hey," said Toby irritably, realising they were talking about him and not flatteringly, "I don't think this is going to be 'a piece of cake.' I know it's going to be hard."

Hoggle just harrumphed. They continued in relative silence, punctuated occasionally by Isla coming up with a new comment that mocked Toby. Hoggle thoroughly enjoyed it, chuckling and giving her encouragement-"That was a good one"-but Toby knew he was being made fun of and his expression grew darker with each comment.

This continued until the golden sandstone walls turned to thick, high hedges. At this point, Hoggle stopped chuckling and began looking around uncomfortably at the tops of the hedges and turned back to look behind them several times. Isla, who was swiveled around dramatically each time Hoggle looked back, looked down at Hoggle worriedly and grew silent.

"What's wrong?" Toby asked nervously after the dwarf peered back yet again. Hoggle grunted, but didn't reply other than picking up his pace. He was amazed that they'd gotten this far without Jareth catching them. Sarah must have been taking up all his attention, for them to have made it this far. If she was still the same old Sarah, she was probably causing a lot of chaos and winning goblins over to her side. Hoggle smirked a bit at that idea. Maybe she was laying waste to his castle as she had the Goblin City. But then, he realized with a shiver of trepidation, Jareth would have made plans before bringing Sarah here. She would be contained; probably trapped in the deepest, darkest oubliette under the castle. Trapped in the dark. All alone. With the Goblin King, whose wounded pride had years to fester on his defeat.

Hoggle's pace quickened to a shuffling jog. They had to get to her as soon as possible, and that meant to get as far along the Short-Cut as possible. Any moment now, a crystal ball would come rolling by or Jareth's voice would ring out from just behind them. And then the jig would be up and they'd be forced to continue through the Labyrinth. He wasn't looking forward to seeing either the Labyrinth or Jareth.

Toby, whose sullen expression had faded, jogged easily behind him and tried again to start a conversation.

"Hoggle? Will this shortcut take us right to the front of the castle?"

"It goes there, but we ain't gonna make it that far," was Hoggle's cynical reply. He would have left it at that, had not Toby asked what he meant quite so persistently. "I mean, we're just taking this as far as we can, 'fore Jareth catches on to us. Once he does, he'll dump us back into the Labyrinth and we'll have the manage through the rest of it."

Toby thought about that for a bit, then said, "How far do you think we can get before he catches on?"

"Dunno. Didn't expect to make it this far."

"How much farther do we have to go?" Hoggle cast him a judgemental look, causing Toby to hasten to add, "I'm not tired or complaining or anything. I just wondered."

"The Short-Cut goes through the forests and under the rubbish mounds and most of the Goblin City. But we ain't gonna make it that far."

"Yeah, you mentioned that," Toby muttered sulkily. Ahead of them, the castle came into view over another rise in the passageway and over the Labyrinth drifted the sound of a hearty, drunken cheer of goblin delight. They were having a celebration and Hoggle couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not.

Toby interrupted his thoughts by asking, "Is Sarah with them?" Hoggle turned to Toby questioningly, and Toby added, "With the goblins, I mean. What happens to the people who get wished away?" Hoggle started walking again quickly again and answered flippantly.

"They get turned into goblins."

"No, I mean before they get rescued."

"They generally don't get rescued." Hoggle shot him a stern look, "Far as I know, you're the only one."

"Wait." Toby stopped walking to take in this revelation. "The only one?" Hoggle just grunted an affirmative noise and Toby hurried to catch up. Isla, who was looking back over her shoulder at him, watched him with an inscrutable expression. "And so all the other taken children were turned into goblins?" Hoggle grunted again. "How many are we talking? Like, a dozen?"

"Over my lifetime? More like a hundred," grunted Hoggle, "But, then I'm pretty old."

"How old?"

"Old enough I don't have to answer nosy questions like that," Hoggle said sharply. Isla turned around and stuck her tongue out at Toby. After a few moments walking in silence, Toby came back around to his earlier question.

"What does happen to the wished away people? Are they sent to a dungeon or something?"

"I just point the way to the Challengers-if they use their right words-I ain't involved in the rest of it, so I don't see what happens to them's as was wished away."

Toby looked up at the castle ahead of them and said softly, "I hope she's not too mad at me. ...Do you think she's okay?"

Hoggle didn't want to answer that. The boy had seemed worried enough about his sister, without knowing just how much Jareth hated her.

Because everyone knew Jareth hated Sarah. After his defeat he'd worked tirelessly to clear all evidence of her victorious run; the Goblin City had been restored in all its slovenly glory within a month-a miraculous feat, given the typically lax goblin work ethic-and mention of her name had been criminalized, punishable by a lengthy Bogging. Her friends had been treated especially badly and were harassed mercilessly after each visit Aboveground to see her-how he even knew about these short visits was beyond Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo, but Jareth always seemed to know. And once Sarah had begun to visit the Labyrinth in her dreams, Jareth's hatred of her had become accepted fact. Each of her visits left him irritable and malicious, more so than normal, and he'd disappear for hours to the Aboveground, some said to wreak havoc on her waking life.

Hoggle tried to make a noncommittal sound in answer to Toby's question, but the boy persisted, "You must have some idea what's happening to her." Hoggle sighed deeply.

"She's probably okay. I mean, he can't do any real harm to her until the Challenge is over."

"Real harm?" Toby exclaimed in horror. "What?!"

His sudden outburst caused Isla to jump and she scowled at him, while Hoggle said by way of explanation, "He could make her pretty miserable, but can't do any lasting harm yet."

"Lasting Harm? Yet?!"

Hoggle was irritated by the boy's shock. What did he think was happening, he thought to himself, Sarah was enjoying tea and crumpets with the King and his goblins? Maybe he shouldn't protect him from the truth. Maybe the kid needed a dose of reality to make him take this whole thing seriously.

"It's no secret that Jareth hates Sarah," he felt a little cruel satisfaction as Toby visibly startled at that revelation, "She's the only one in a hundred years who made it through the Labyrinth-"

Isla interrupted to correct him, "That's not true. There was the girl in the Book."

"Bah," Hoggle said dismissively, "So maybe there was one other. But Sarah's the only one recently. And the only one that seemed to get under Jareth's skin. None of the others got so much attention from him."

"So… Jareth hates my sister." Toby said this with so much skepticism that Hoggle and Isla both looked back in surprise.

"Of course," they both said in unison, though Toby only understood Hoggle.

The boy frowned and said somewhat sulkily, "He didn't seem like he hated her."

"Well," said Hoggle, "things aren't always what they seem." Toby didn't have a response to that and they continued in silence, until Isla began to humm again.

They passed another hidden opening and Toby, after slowing down to peer through, began to ask more questions.

"So, this shortcut changes directions magically?" Hoggle grunted in disinterested affirmation. "Is that how it keeps these hedges so perfectly trimmed too? With magic?" He was holding his hand out to the hedge, brushing his hand along it's precisely manicured edge.

Isla shot him a scathing look and replied irritably, "You think the Underground would waste magic on shrubbery?"

"What?" Toby asked, then huffed irritably, "I can't understand what she's saying."

"She's saying 'You're an idiot,'" Hoggle translated loosely.

Toby shook his head and muttered darkly, "No wonder no one likes fairies."

"The hedges aren't magical. They're just hedges," Hoggle made a motion as if to dismiss the entire shrubbery as unimportant.

"So then… do goblins clip them? Or you? Aren't you kind of a gardener?"

Hoggle, who did not like to be referred to as a gardener (regardless of what the truth may be), frowned and said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "If you're so interested in landscaping, I'm sure Jareth would be willing to introduce you to the Cleaners." Isla laughed loudly and caustically at that. Toby sighed, but didn't reply and fell silent again. Glancing back, Hoggle could see the boy's feelings were hurt. He's gonna have to toughen up, if he can't take a little sarcasm, thought Hoggle, but when Isla started to make another joke at the mortal's expense, Hoggle hushed her brusquely, saying if she had energy to come up with snarky comments, she had enough energy to fly instead of ride. The fairy joined the others in a grumpy silence that lasted until they reached the end of the hedge portion of the corridor.

The hedges had given way to roughly hewn stone and Hoggle, seeing a familiar hidden entrance up ahead, slowed his pace nearly to a standstill. This was the entrance he'd been searching for all those years ago, on the rocky outcrop that formed a barrier between the hedge maze and the forests, when he'd abandoned Sarah and his stolen jewels. Just a few meters on the other side of that gap between the boulders was where he'd heard Sarah call to him for help and, for the first time in his miserable life, had felt concern for someone else's safety. It was where that damned Jareth had given him that damned peach. He half expected to find Jareth standing there, sneering down his long thin nose at them. But as Hoggle crept up and peered through the entrance, the only thing he could see was rocks, sand and a few scrubby branches.

Isla, still standing on his head, leaned forward and squinted to see what Hoggle was looking for, and Toby, who had crept up behind him, peered over them both.

"What are we looking for?" Even though Toby had whispered this, Hoggle practically jumped out of his skin.

"Why d'ya sneak up on me like that!" Hoggle exclaimed furiously, clutching at his chest as if it could slow his pounding heart.

"I was just doing what you were doing," Toby said innocently. The boy looked questioningly at Isla, who shrugged and gave him a 'your guess is as good as mine' look. Hoggle, meanwhile, stomped past the opening and down the incline that the Short-Cut followed into the forests. This part had tall walls of thick stone blocks, over the tops of which tree branches from the surrounding forest arched. It was darker here, with the canopy of trees overhead, and the gloom was palpable.

"So, we're going through the forests now, right?"

Hoggle muttered, "Right," in a tone that strongly discouraged further conversation. They walked on, the only sound the soft noise of their footsteps and the eerie calls of birds drifting down from beyond the wall. After five minutes, the easily-bored fairy couldn't stand it anymore and leaned toward Hoggle's ear.

"I've been thinking," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Toby, "This kid might know more about Sarah's visits."

Toby, said excitedly, "Did she say Sarah? It sounded like she said Sarah." He jogged forward to tap Hoggle excitedly, "I think I'm starting to understand her!"

Hoggle rolled his eyes and kept moving, but Isla perked up and grinned at Toby. She leaned down towards Hoggle's ear to say, "Guess I'll have to start watching my language." Hoggle just grumpily waved her off his head. The last thing he wanted to do right now, was talk about Sarah's visits, and no amount of joking from Isla was going to change that. Uneffected by her friend's sour attitude, Isla laughed merrily, then drifted over and landed on Toby's shoulder. When Hoggle noticed her self-satisfied look, coupled with Toby's grin, he finally was prodded into replying.

"Just 'cause you understand one word out of a hundred don't mean you're suddenly gonna understand everything that beastie says. And I wouldn't let her ride on your shoulder if I was you-your ears look too soft and tempting. Remember, them fairies bite." Toby regarded Isla with renewed trepidation, who tried to look deeply offended until she stole a glance at his ear and grinned toothily.

"They do look tempting." Toby understood her meaning well enough and jumped away, shaking her off and hurrying after Hoggle. "But seriously, Hoggle," she continued breezily, landing on the dwarf's shoulder, "He might know why she keeps visiting. And why she never visits you."

That addition was a barb that sunk deep into the wounded part of his heart-the part that wondered why his first friend had stopped calling on him-and got a strong, if not entirely comprehensible, reaction.

"You-! Rrrrrgh!" He swatted her off his shoulder-or tried to, but the fairy was faster-and shouted, jabbing a finger in her direction, "Listen here, you little pest, it ain't none of your business. And just 'cause you're always hanging around, don't give you the right to poke your nose in mine. I don't care! Don't care who she visits and I don't care why." His incensed expression strongly suggested otherwise and Hoggle knew it. And now he felt Toby's startled eyes watching him. He threw up his hands with another inarticulate exclamation and stomped off.

If she hadn't kept coming back, he might have just been able to let it go and get on with his life-be satisfied with the friends he did have, not wonder incessantly what he might have done wrong to be cast aside and forgotten. But she kept coming back. And everyone in the entire kingdom talked about it.

Many rumors about these visits swirled around the Labyrinth. The most popular explanation among the goblins was that Sarah was planning to take Jareth's throne in a coup. This was Isla's favorite theory, though she wasn't quite convinced. Another explanation was that Sarah visited to reenact her victory-this was the explanation Sir Didymus held to, as he imagined knights often dreamed of the glories of their victorious campaigns. Hoggle doubted that was the case, but it made more sense than Ludo's personal theory-the troll stubbornly insisted, "Sarah make friends with King." Hoggle, for his part, tried to avoid any discussion about the subject, because it hurt knowing Sarah visited this place in her dreams, but never visited him.

But that damn fairy saw right through him and always wanted to talk it over. It'll make you feel better, she always said. Hoggle thought that idea stunk like the Bog.

While Hoggle stomped off, Isla's cruel sense of humor was provoked into action. She hovered in mid air, behind Hoggle, and began a perfect imitation of his hobbling gait. She turned around to shoot a look at Toby that was so perfectly Hoggle, that the boy burst into laughter. She then pointed a finger at him and mimicked Hoggle's voice with surprising accuracy, given the difference in pitch.

"You listen here, you lanky beanpole of a human! I have no interest in why Sarah comes here and I don't mind one bit that she never visits me. Forget about how I always mope around for days after she visits. Forget about how I always listen to any scrap of information about her visits like my life depended on it. Forget about how I drop everything and ignore Jareth's orders, even though I know I'll be in big trouble for it, when I hear she needs my help. Forget about how much I obviously do care and how hard I work to hide it. I am not the least bit curious, so don't even bother telling me anything."

Toby said laughing, "I have no idea what you're saying, Isla, but that's a perfect impression." To Hoggle he added, "Have you seen her impression of you? She's amazing!"

Hoggle continued walking as if he hadn't heard any of it, ignoring Isla's peals of high pitched laughter. Toby apparently found her laughter contagious and chuckled along for a while. It took a few moments for them to quiet down and when they did, Hoggle heard a noise that made his stomach drop.

It took a moment for Isla to recognise the distant metallic grinding sound too, but when she did, he heard her gasp. She soared up above them, looking ahead through the canopy of branches as best she could, and then darted down at Hoggle.

"Why did you even mention the Cleaners?!" She spat angrily, gesturing ahead of them to the sound slowly growing louder.

"Hey," Toby asked belatedly, "What's that noise?"

"Ain't my fault!" Hoggle, ignoring Toby's question, exclaimed defensively, "They ain't scheduled to come through for at least two weeks." He gestured to the pristine condition of the corridor, "They just came through three days ago."

"Well," Isla pointed angrily, "They are coming again now!"

"What's going on? Are we in trouble?" Toby continued to be ignored.

Hoggle cursed, then said to his tiny friend, "Jareth knows. He must have sent it early." He quickly looked up and down the passageway, then squinted up at Isla, "Can we make it to the next entrance?"

She flew up and squinted ahead, while Toby tried to talk to Hoggle again, "Jareth knows what? What did he send?"

Hoggle was watching Isla, who shook her head, and swore before looking up at Toby's concerned face. "We have to go back," he said, "Now." He turned back the way they came, pushed past Toby in the narrow corridor and began to run. Toby, with those ridiculously long legs, was able to keep up with him with an easy jog.

"What is it?"

"The Cleaners," Hoggle answered over his shoulder, "You wanted to know how the hedges kept their shape? If we don't get to that opening in time, you'll see how they get trimmed up close."

"...I'm getting the feeling I don't want to see that."

"Just run!" Hoggle gasped breathlessly.

The scraping and grinding metal sound was drawing closer and closer as they ran. Isla dove down, gasping from the effort to catch up with them, and landed on Hoggle's head roughly. She grabbed a fistful of the sparse and tender hair on Hoggle's head and shrieked wildly, "Faster!"

"Ow! Stop pulling my hair or gerroff me!" Hoggle shouted, "I'm goin' as fast as I can!"

"Just hurry!" Isla said, releasing his hair and gripping tightly to his skullcap, "It's gaining on us!" Hoggle didn't reply, but thought sardonically, Well... we sure got his attention. He knew the Cleaners had come into view behind them when he heard Toby's exclamation.

"What is that thing?" The boy's voice had risen an octave.

Hoggle kept running, not pausing to look back, but he knew what this Cleaner looked like; a metal rectangle that filled the entire corridor perfectly, every inch covered by shredding, whirling blades. "Keep running," he shouted in reply.

His lungs were burning by the time the entrance came into view in the distance ahead. Even Toby was gasping, though probably more from fright than anything else, as he ran with his hands on Hoggle's back, pushing him from behind. Hoggle made the mistake of looking back and saw how close the machine was to them. His heart froze in his chest; they weren't going to make it. The Cleaners was bearing down on them and they were going to be sliced into tiny bits and sucked up into the damned machine's chipper.

The pessimistic voice in Hoggle's head-the one he usually listened to-grunted, Figures. This is what I get for going against Jareth. Shoulda kept my door closed. Never shoulda been Sarah's friend in the first place. Woulda saved myself a lot of hassle. Woulda stayed alive. Aloud he just said in a small voice, "We ain't gonna make it."

Having accepted this was going to be his end, Hoggle slowed his pace-already painstakingly slow for Toby, who had been pushing Hoggle as fast as he dared, afraid to knock the dwarf off his feet. The sound of the Cleaners made-a shrieking of spinning, poorly oiled metal, coupled with a grinding as the square edges scraped against the stone walls-was deafening. It was a wonder Toby had been able to hear Hoggle's admission of defeat at all.

"Yes, we are!" Toby exclaimed.

Isla grabbed another fistful of Hoggle's hair and screamed, "You keep running, you spineless, chicken-hearted, rotten sack of potatoes!" Toby vaulted over Hoggle and grabbed him by the arm, nearly lifting him off the ground, then began to really run. They were moving faster than Hoggle thought possible. But a quick look back confirmed what he already knew, even with Toby half carrying him, they weren't going to make it.

"If that thing would just slow down enough…" Toby gasped. Hoggle, not able to speak for the wheezing of his breath, wished he'd told Isla to fly up-she could easily get out of the Cleaner's path and if the damn fairy wasn't so sentimental, she might have realised it too. He tried to shake her off, but she shrieked and clung tighter.

The blades were right behind them now. Hoggle could feel the air rushing into the machine and knew any moment he'd feel the first sting of a cut. And then, miraculously, Toby was pulling him into the entrance and they were collapsing into a pile on the sandy floor, safely out of the Cleaner's destructive path.

Panting for breath, they looked back as the huge wall of blades ground past the entrance. Instead of continuing on as Hoggle expected it to, the machine screeched to a halt, effectively blocking the entrance to the Short-Cut. Gasping for breath, dizzy from the effort and feeling a rush of elation at still being alive, Hoggle turned to look at Toby. The boy was wheezing and coughing from the cloud of dust they'd kicked up on their landing, but still managed to grin ecstatically at him.

Hoggle was about to croak, We're alive!-but was stopped short by a voice, a cold and condescending one, he had hoped not to hear.

"Well. What have we here?"

Jareth, King of the Goblins, was standing above them and he was not happy.

* * *

A/N: Did any of you stay up late at night as a kid, thinking about how when Sarah gets help from the worm, the hidden opening is in what should be the outer wall of the Labyrinth? I'm not the only one, am I?

Sorry about the huge delay since the last posting. I've been struggling with pacing (how much dialogue is too much) and plot ideas (how to get from point A to point B). I could really use a Beta to bounce ideas off of, but have you seen how many Beta profiles there are?! SO MANY! Just looking through them is a daunting task. If any of you following this story would like to talk about being my sounding board, drop me a line.

I promise there will be Sarah and Jareth time soon. Probably not the next chapter, but soon.


End file.
